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Small poems of Divers sorts

Written by Sir Aston Cokain

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6. A Funeral Elegie upon the Death of Mr. Thomas Pilkington, one of the Queens Musicians, Who deceased at Wolverhampton about the 35. year of his Age, and lies there buried.
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6. A Funeral Elegie upon the Death of Mr. Thomas Pilkington, one of the Queens Musicians, Who deceased at Wolverhampton about the 35. year of his Age, and lies there buried.

At the Report of so sad News sure soone
The grieved Nation will be out of tune;

78

For Pilkington is dead, who did command
All Instruments with his unequal'd hand:
Mastring all Musick that was known before;
He did invent the Orphion, and gave more.
Though he (by playing) had acquir'd high Fame,
He evermore escap'd a Gamesters Name:
Yet he at Gamut frequent was, and taught
Many to play, till Death set his Gam out.
He was facetious, and did never carp,
Making that Musick which came from him sharp.
His Flats were all Harmonious; not like theirs
Whose ebbs in prose or verse abuse our ears:
But to what end praise I his Flats, since that
He is grown One himself, and now lies Flat?
Others for Days mispent are charged with crime,
But he a strict observer was of time.
Nothing escap'd his Study (by all votes)
Being most perfect of mankind at Notes.
Though he was often in his Moodes, they were
Such as rejoyc'd all mindes, and pleas'd each ear.
The Muses two-clif'd Hill he did surpass;
Whose Musick had three Cliffs to do it Grace.
With rashness none his Credit could impair,
Who did observe his Stops with so much Care.
His Frets were gentle Ones, such as would be
Stop'd with a Finger, and make Harmonie.
His Family agree so in their Hearts,
That they did make a Consort of five Parts;
(To be a Pattern unto every one)
Himself, his Wife, two Daughters, and a Son:

79

Though somtimes there might some Division run,
Twas for the best in the Conclusion;
For each learn'd Master in this Science knowes
Good Musick often hath from Discords rose.
A Large his generous heart was and a Long;
His Life was wish'd by all the happy Throng
Acquainted with his worths: But (in the chiefe
Of all his Dayes) Death made it be a Briefe.
Crotchets he had good store, yet such as were
Harmonious, full of Spirit, life, and aire.
His Life was but a Minum, till his prime,
When as old Age should last out Sembrief-time;
His proved over short, as if indeed
He were, Alas! to die by Quaver-speed.
Whose Loss our trembling Heart such wise lament,
As they like Semi, and Demi-Quavers went.
So he is gone (as Heaven hath thought it best)
And (after all his pains) hath made a Rest.
Musicks best Instrument his body made,
Wherein his soul upon the Organs plai'd:
But Death was likewise Sacrilegious grown,
Who rudely hath those Organs overthrown.
For other Exequies what need we call?
Play o're his Hearse his own fam'd Funeral;
The doleful Aire that he compos'd, to mourn
For beauteous Reppingtons untimely Urne.
What need more words, when no words can declare
The Merits of a Man so wondrous rare?
He was too excellent for earth: And's gone,
To be in Heaven a prime Musician.