Epitaph On Charles II

Here lies a great and mighty King,
Whose promise none relied on;
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

John Wilmot

John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester, was an English poet and courtier of King Charles II's Restoration court. Renowned for his rakish lifestyle and his satirical and bawdy verses, Wilmot penned some of the most controversial poetry of his time. Despite his short life, his work significantly influenced English literature, especially the libertine and Restoration comedy genres. His eloquence combined with a wild lifestyle, making him a quintessential figure of Restoration England.

John Wilmot

Constancy

John Wilmot, Simple Poetry

The Disabled Debauchee

John Wilmot, Simple Poetry

I Cannot Change, As Others Do

John Wilmot, Simple Poetry

A Woman's Honour

John Wilmot, Simple Poetry

English

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A Satyre On Charles II

In th' isle of Britain, long since famous grown
For breeding the best cunts in Christendom,
There reigns, and oh! long may he reign and thrive,
The easiest King and best bred man alive.
Him no ambition moves to get reknown
Like the French fool, that wanders up and down
Starving his people, hazarding his crown.
Peace is his aim, his gentleness is such,
And love he loves, for he loves f*cking much.
Nor are his high desires above his strength:
His scepter and his prick are of a length;
And she may sway the one who plays with th' other,
And make him little wiser than his brother.
Poor Prince! thy prick, like thy buffoons at court,
Will govern thee because it makes thee sport.
'Tis sure the sauciest prick that e'er did swive,
The proudest, peremptoriest prick alive...

John Wilmot

God Bless Our Good And Gracious King

God bless our good and gracious kind,
Whose promise none relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

John Wilmot

Epitaph I. On Charles Earl Of Dorset, In The Church Of Withyam, In Sussex.

'His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani Munere!'

VIRG.

Dorset, the grace of courts, the Muses' pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:
Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Bless'd satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Blest courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease.
Blest peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.

Alexander Pope

Kings And Rulers

Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
    Whose word no man relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
    And never did a wise one.

Said by a courtier of Charles, II. To which the King replied, "That is very true, for my words are my own. My actions are my minister's."

Unknown

Epitaph II. On Sir William Trumbull.[1]

A pleasing form; a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd:
Honour unchanged, a principle profess'd,
Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A generous faith, from superstition free:
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;
Such this man was; who now, from earth removed,
At length enjoys that liberty he loved.

Alexander Pope

On The Monument Of The Marquis Of Winchester.[1]

He who in impious times undaunted stood,
And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good;
Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more
Confirm'd the cause for which he sought before,
Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince,
For what his earthly could not recompense.
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear:
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,
Which, to preserve them, Heaven confined in thee.
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve;
And fewer such a king so well could serve.
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate!
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.

John Dryden