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On the Death of Mr Calamy

Robert Wild (1609-1679) · 1,091 words · 5 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A96486.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

ON THE Death of M r Calamy, Not known to the Author of a long time after.

ANd must our Deaths be silenced too! I guess
'It is some dumb Devil hath possessed the Press;
Calamy dead without a Publication!
'It is great injustice to our English Nation:
For had this Prophet's Funeral been known,
It must have had an Universal Groan;
Afflicted London would then have been found
In the same year to be both burned and drowned;
And those who found no Tears their flames to quench,
Would yet have wept a Showre, his Herse to drench.
Methinks the Man who stuffs the Weekly Sheet,
With fine New-Nothings, what hard Names did meet.
The Emp'ress, how her Petticoat was lac'd,
And how her Lacquyes Liveries were faced;
What's her chief Woman's Name; what Dons do bring
Almonds and Figs to Spain 's great little King:
Is much concerned if the Pope's Toe but aches,
When he breaks Wind, and when a Purge he takes;
He who can gravely advertise, and tell
Where Lockier and Rowland Pippin dwell;
Where a Black-Box or Green-Bag was lost;
And who was Knighted, though not what it cost:
Methinks he might have thought it worth the while,
Though not to tell us who the State beguile,
Or what new Conquest England hath acquired;
Nor that poor Trifle who the City fired;
Though not how Popery exalts its head,
And Priests and Jesuits their poison spread;
Yet in swoln Characters he might let fly,
The Presbyterians have lost an Eye.
Had Crack —'s Fiddle been in tune, (but he
Is now a Silenc'd Man as well as We)
He had struck up loud Music, and had played
A Jig for joy that Calamy was laid;
He would have told how many Coaches went;
How many Lord's and Ladies did lament;
What Handkerchiefs were sent, and in them Gold
To wipe the Widows eyes, he would have told;
All had come out, and we beholden all
To him, for the o'reflowing of his gall.
But why do I thus Rant without a cause?
Is not Concealment Policy? whose Laws
My silly peevish Muse doth ill tooppose
For public Losses no Man should disclose;
And such was this, a greater loss by far,
One Man of God then twenty Men of War;
It was a King, who when a Prophet died,
Wept over him, and Father, Father cried.
O if thy Life and Ministry be done
My Chariots and Horsemen, strength is gone.
I must speak sober words, for well I know
If Saints in Heaven do hear us here below,
A lie, though in his Praise, would make him frown,
And chide me when with Jesus he comes down
To judge the World.—This little little He,
This silly, sickly, silenced Calamy,
Aldermanbury 's Curate, and no more,
Though he a mighty Miter might have wore,
Could have vi'd Interest in God or Man,
With the most pompous Metropolitan:
How have we known him captivate a throng,
And made a Sermon twenty thousand strong;
And though black-mouths his Loyalty did charge,
How strong his tug was at the Royal Barge,
To hale it home, great GEORGE can well attest,
Then when poor Prelacy lay dead in its nest;
For if a Collect could not fetch him home,
Charles must stay out, that Interest was mum.
Nor did Ambition of a Miter, make
Him serve the Crown, it was for Conscience sake.
Unbrib'd Loyalty! his highest reach
Was so be Master Calamy, and preach.
He blessed the King, who Bishop him did name,
And I bless him who did refuse the same.
O! had our Reverend Clergy been as free
To serve their Prince without Reward, as he,
They might have had less Wealth with greater love:
Envy, like Winds, endangers things above;
Worth, not Advancement, doth beget esteem.
The highest Weathercock the least doth seem.
If you would know of what disease he died,
His grief was Chronical it is replied.
For had he opened been by Surgeons art,
They had found London burning in his heart;
How many Messengers of death did he
Receive with Christian Magnanimity!
The Stone, Gout, Dropsy, Ills, which did arise
From Griefs and Studies, not from Luxuries;
The Megrim too which still strikes at the Head,
These He stood under, and scarce staggered
Might he but work, though loaded with these Chains,
He Pray'd and Preach'd, and sung away his pains;
Then by a fatal Bill he was struck dead,
And though that blow he never recovered,
(For he remained speechless to his close)
Yet did he breath, and breath out Prayers for those
From whom he had that wound: he lived to hear
An Hundred thousand buried in one year
In his Dear City, over which he wept,
And many Fasts to keep off Judgments, kept;
Yet, yet he lived, stout heart he lived, to be
Depriv'd, driven out, kept out, lived to see
Wars, Blazing-Stars, Torches which Heaven never burns,
But to light Kings or Kingdoms to their Urns.
He lived to see the Glory of our Isle,
London consumed in its Funeral pile.
He lived to see that lesser day of Doom,
London, the Priests Burnt-sacrifice to Rome;
That blow he could not stand, but with that fire
As with a Burning Fever did expire.
This died this Saint, of whom it must be said,
He died a Martyr, though he died in's bed.
So Father Eli in the Sacred page
Sat quivering with fear as much as age,
Longing to know, yet loath to ask the News
How it far'd with the Army of the Jews.
Israel flies, that struck his Palsy-head,
The next blow stunned him, Your Sons are dead;
But when the third stroke came, The Ark is lost,
His heart was wounded, and his life it cost.
Thus fell this Father, and we well do know
He feared our Ark was going long ago.

The EPITAPH.

HEre a poor Minister of Christ doth lie,
Who did INDEED a Bishopric deny.
When his Lord comes, then, then, the World shall see
Such humble Ones, the rising-Men shall be:
How many Saints whom he had sent before,
Shouted to see him enter Heavens door:
There his blest Soul beholds the face of God,
While we below groan out our Ichabod:
Under his burned-Church his Body lies,
But shall itself a glorious Temple rise;
May his kind flock when a new Church they make,
Call it St. Edmundsbury for his sake.

London, Printed in the Year 1667.