No More Learning

8 When I crie out, he out shuts my prayer: 9 And hath
Stop'd with hewn stone my way, and turn'd my path.

10 And like a Lion hid in secrecie,
Or Beare which lyes in wait, he was to mee. 190
11 He stops my way, teares me, made desolate,
12 And hee makes mee the marke he shooteth at.

13 Hee made the children of his quiver passe
Into my reines, 14 I with my people was
All the day long, a song and mockery. 195
15 Hee hath fill'd mee with bitternesse, and he

Hath made me drunke with wormewood. 16 He hath burst
My teeth with stones, and covered mee with dust;
17 And thus my Soule farre off from peace was set,
And my prosperity I did forget. 200

18 My strength, my hope (unto my selfe I said)
Which from the Lord should come, is perished.
19 But when my mournings I do thinke upon,
My wormwood, hemlocke, and affliction,

20 My Soule is humbled in remembring this; 205
21 My heart considers, therefore, hope there is.
22 'Tis Gods great mercy we'are not utterly
Consum'd, for his compassions do not die;

23 For every morning they renewed bee,
For great, O Lord, is thy fidelity. 210
24 The Lord is, saith my Soule, my portion,
And therefore in him will I hope alone.

25 The Lord is good to them, who on him relie,
And to the Soule that seeks him earnestly.
26 It is both good to trust, and to attend 215
(The Lords salvation) unto the end:

27 'Tis good for one his yoake in youth to beare;
28 He sits alone, and doth all speech forbeare,
Because he hath borne it. 29 And his mouth he layes
Deepe in the dust, yet then in hope he stayes. 220

30 He gives his cheekes to whosoever will
Strike him, and so he is reproched still.
31 For, not for ever doth the Lord forsake,
32 But when he'hath strucke with sadnes, hee doth take

Compassion, as his mercy'is infinite; 225
33 Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite;
34 That underfoot the prisoners stamped bee,
35 That a mans right the Judge himselfe doth see

To be wrung from him, 36 That he subverted is
In his just cause; the Lord allowes not this. 230
37 Who then will say, that ought doth come to passe,
But that which by the Lord commanded was?

38 Both good and evill from his mouth proceeds;
39 Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds?
40 Turne wee to God, by trying out our wayes; 235
41 To him in heaven, our hands with hearts upraise.

42 Wee have rebell'd, and falne away from thee,
Thou pardon'st not; 43 Usest no clemencie;
Pursuest us, kill'st us, coverest us with wrath,
44 Cover'st thy selfe with clouds, that our prayer hath 240

No power to passe. 45 And thou hast made us fall
As refuse, and off-scouring to them all.
46 All our foes gape at us. 47 Feare and a snare
With ruine, and with waste, upon us are.

48 With watry rivers doth mine eye oreflow 245
For ruine of my peoples daughter so;
49 Mine eye doth drop downe teares incessantly,
50 Untill the Lord looke downe from heaven to see.

51 And for my citys daughters sake, mine eye
Doth breake mine heart. 52 Causles mine enemy, 250
Like a bird chac'd me. 53 In a dungeon
They have shut my life, and cast on me a stone.

54 Waters flow'd o'r my head, then thought I, I am
Destroy'd; 55 I called Lord, upon thy name
Out of the pit. 56 And thou my voice didst heare; 255
Oh from my sigh, and crye, stop not thine eare.

57 Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st nere
Unto mee, and said'st unto mee, do not feare.
58 Thou Lord my Soules cause handled hast, and thou
Rescud'st my life. 59 O Lord do thou judge now, 260

Thou heardst my wrong. 60 Their vengeance all they have wrought;
61 How they reproach'd, thou hast heard, and what they thought,
62 What their lips uttered, which against me rose,
And what was ever whisper'd by my foes.

63 I am their song, whether they rise or sit, 265
64 Give them rewards Lord, for their working fit,
65 Sorrow of heart, thy curse. 66 And with thy might
Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.


CHAP. IV.

1 How is the gold become so dimme? How is
Purest and finest gold thus chang'd to this? 270
The stones which were stones of the Sanctuary,
Scattered in corners of each street do lye.

2 The pretious sonnes of Sion, which should bee
Valued at purest gold, how do wee see
Low rated now, as earthen Pitchers, stand, 275
Which are the worke of a poore Potters hand.

3 Even the Sea-calfes draw their brests, and give
Sucke to their young; my peoples daughters live,
By reason of the foes great cruelnesse,
As do the Owles in the vast Wildernesse. 280

4 And when the sucking child doth strive to draw,
His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw.
And when for bread the little children crye,
There is no man that doth them satisfie.

5 They which before were delicately fed, 285
Now in the streets forlorne have perished,
And they which ever were in scarlet cloath'd,
Sit and embrace the dunghills which they loath'd.

6 The daughters of my people have sinned more,
Then did the towne of _Sodome_ sinne before; 290
Which being at once destroy'd, there did remaine
No hands amongst them, to vexe them againe.

7 But heretofore purer her Nazarite
Was then the snow, and milke was not so white;
As carbuncles did their pure bodies shine, 295
And all their polish'dnesse was Saphirine.

8 They are darker now then blacknes, none can know
Them by the face, as through the streets they goe,
For now their skin doth cleave unto the bone,
And withered, is like to dry wood growne. 300

9 Better by sword then famine 'tis to dye;
And better through pierc'd, then through penury.
10 Women by nature pitifull, have eate
Their children drest with their owne hands for meat.

11 _Iehova_ here fully accomplish'd hath 305
His indignation, and powr'd forth his wrath,
Kindled a fire in _Sion_, which hath power
To eate, and her foundations to devour.

12 Nor would the Kings of the earth, nor all which live
In the inhabitable world beleeve, 310
That any adversary, any foe
Into _Ierusalem_ should enter so.

13 For the Priests sins, and Prophets, which have shed
Blood in the streets, and the just murthered:
14 Which when those men, whom they made blinde, did stray 315
Thorough the streets, defiled by the way

With blood, the which impossible it was
Their garments should scape touching, as they passe,
15 Would cry aloud, depart defiled men,
Depart, depart, and touch us not; and then 320

They fled, and strayd, and with the _Gentiles_ were,
Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there;
16 For this they are scattered by Jehovahs face
Who never will regard them more; No grace

Unto their old men shall the foe afford, 325
Nor, that they are Priests, redeeme them from the sword.
17 And wee as yet, for all these miseries
Desiring our vaine helpe, consume our eyes:

And such a nation as cannot save,
We in desire and speculation have. 330
18 They hunt our steps, that in the streets wee feare
To goe: our end is now approached neere,

Our dayes accomplish'd are, this the last day.
19 Eagles of heaven are not so swift as they
Which follow us, o'r mountaine tops they flye 335
At us, and for us in the desart lye.

20 The annointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, hee
Of whom we said, under his shadow, wee
Shall with more ease under the Heathen dwell,
Into the pit which these men digged, fell. 340

21 Rejoyce O _Edoms daughter_, joyfull bee
Thou which inhabitst _Huz_, for unto thee
This cup shall passe, and thou with drunkennesse
Shalt fill thy selfe, and shew thy nakednesse.

22 And then thy sinnes O _Sion_, shall be spent, 345
The Lord will not leave thee in banishment.
Thy sinnes O _Edoms daughter_, hee will see,
And for them, pay thee with captivitie.


CHAP. V.

1 Remember, O Lord, what is fallen on us;
See, and marke how we are reproached thus, 350
2 For unto strangers our possession
Is turn'd, our houses unto Aliens gone,

3 Our mothers are become as widowes, wee
As Orphans all, and without father be;
4 Waters which are our owne, wee drunke, and pay, 355
And upon our owne wood a price they lay.

5 Our persecutors on our necks do sit,
They make us travaile, and not intermit,
6 We stretch our hands unto th'_Egyptians_
To get us bread; and to the _Assyrians_. 360

7 Our Fathers did these sinnes, and are no more,
But wee do beare the sinnes they did before.
8 They are but servants, which do rule us thus,
Yet from their hands none would deliver us.

9 With danger of our life our bread wee gat; 365
For in the wildernesse, the sword did wait.
10 The tempests of this famine wee liv'd in,
Black as an Oven colour'd had our skinne:

11 In _Iudaes_ cities they the maids abus'd
By force, and so women in _Sion_ us'd. 370
12 The Princes with their hands they hung; no grace
Nor honour gave they to the Elders face.

13 Unto the mill our yong men carried are,
And children fell under the wood they bare.
14 Elders, the gates; youth did their songs forbeare, 375
15 Gone was our joy; our dancings, mournings were.

16 Now is the crowne falne from our head; and woe
Be unto us, because we'have sinned so.
17 For this our hearts do languish, and for this
Over our eyes a cloudy dimnesse is. 380

18 Because mount _Sion_ desolate doth lye,
And foxes there do goe at libertie:
19 But thou O Lord art ever, and thy throne
From generation, to generation.

20 Why should'st thou forget us eternally? 385
Or leave us thus long in this misery?
21 Restore us Lord to thee, that so we may
Returne, and as of old, renew our day.

22 For oughtest thou, O Lord, despise us thus,
And to be utterly enrag'd at us? 390


[The Lamentations _&c. _ _1633-69_ (Tremellius _1639-69_), _B_,
_N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ _Tr in the notes stands for_ Tremellius,
_Vulg for_ Vulgate. _See note:_ _full-stops after
verse-numbers_ _1635-69_]

[2-4 thus! . . . is! ] thus? . . . is? _1633-69_]

[22 Harts] hearts _1669_]

[25 her _O'F:_ their _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ the _B:_ diebus
afflictionis suae et ploratuum suorum _Tr_]

[28 Whilest _B_, _O'F:_ Whiles _1633-69_]

[32 seene;] seene, _1633_]

[43 pleasure] pleasures _N_]

[53 hand] hands _1650-69:_ manu ejus _Tr_]

[56 from whom _1635-69_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ from whence
_1633_]

[58 invite _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ accite _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]

[59 men; _Ed:_ men, _1633-69_]

[63 farre;] farre _1633_]

[65 hand,] hand _1633-35_]

[76 they could not get. _1633:_ and none could get. _1635-69_]

[_Norton conjectures that in_ 75 _we should read_ the
sought-for meat: _but see note_]

[78 o'rturn'd,] return'd, _1633_]

[81 heare I mourne, _1633-35_, _B_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ heare
me mourn, _N:_ here I mourn, _1639-69_, _and mod. edd. :_
Audientium me in gemitu esse nemo consolatur me. _Tr_]

[87 sighs] sights _1669_]

[90 cloud! _Ed:_ cloud? _1633-69_

flung] flung. _1633_]

[92 wrath! _Ed:_ wrath? _1633-69_]

[95 strengths _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ strength _1635_, _B_, _O'F:_
munitiones _Tr and Vulg_]

[110 where] which _B_, _O'F:_ locum conventus sui _Tr_]

[112 regardeth] regarded _1669_]

[114 hand _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ hands _1633-69:_ tradit in
manum inimici muros, palatia illius _Tr_]

[118-9 ground; . . . hand,] ground, . . . hand; _1633_]

[121 Their _1633:_ The _1635-69_]

[122 barres; _B_, _O'F:_ barre; _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ vectes
ejus _Tr_]

[124 their] the _1669_]

[134 there,] there _1633-39_]

[135 streets, _B_, _O'F:_ street _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ in
plateis civitatis _Tr_]

[141 For thee _1635-54:_ For, the _1633:_ For the _1669_]

[143 disturne _1633-54 and MSS. :_ dis-urn _1669:_ disturb
_Chambers:_ ad avertendum captivitatem tuam _Tr_]

[145 hisse, _Ed:_ hisse _1633-39_]

[157 against _1633:_ unto _1635-69_, _and MSS. :_ clamat cor
istorum contra Dominum _Tr:_ ad Dominum _Vulg_]

[161 poure, for _1633 and MSS. :_ poure out _1635-69_,
_Chambers_]

[174 his, _1633:_ thy _1635-69_]

[CHAP. ] _ital. _ _1633_]

[182 girt] hemde _B_, _O'F_]

[186 before. _1650-69:_ before, _1633-39_]

[187 8 _Ed:_ 8. _1635-69_; _om. 1633_]

[190 mee. ] mee, _1633_]

[202 perished. _1633:_ perished, _1635-69_]

[203 mournings _1633-69_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ mourning _B_]

[216 (The Lords salvation) _1633:_ _no brackets_, _1635-69_]

[226 smite; _Ed:_ smite, _1633-69_]

[229 wrung] wrong _1633_

him, _Ed:_ him. _1633-69_]

[230 this. ] this: _1633_]

[231 doth] will _B_, _O'F_]

[238 not; _1650-69:_ not. _1633-35:_ not _1639_]

[239 coverest us with wrath] coverest with thy wrath _B, O'F_]

[243 47 _Ed:_ 47, _1633:_ 47. _1635-69_]

[245 watry] water _1633_]

[246 daughter _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ daughters _1633-69:_
propter contritionem filiae populi mei _Tr_]

[249 citys _O'F:_ city _1633-69:_ propter omnes filias
civitatis meae _Tr_]

[252 on me _B_, _N_, _TCD:_ me on _1633-69:_ projiciunt
lapides in me. _Tr:_ posuerunt lapidem super me. _Vulg_]

[256 sigh,] sight, _1650-69_]

[260 Rescud'st _B_, _O'F:_ Rescuest _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_
vindicabas _Tr_

now, _1633-39:_ now. _1650-69_, _Chambers_]

[CHAP. ] CAP. _1633_]

[270 Purest] P _dropped_ _1650-54_]

[274 at _1633-39:_ as _1650-69_, _B_, _N_, _O'F_, _TCD:_ qui
taxandi erant auro purgatissimo _Tr_]

[278 live,] live _1633_]

[283 little children] little _om. Chambers_]

[296 Saphirine. _1635-69:_ Seraphine. _1633:_ Sapphirina
polities eorum _Tr_]

[298 streets _B_, _O'F:_ street _1633-69_, _N_, _TCD:_ in
vicis _Tr:_ in plateis _Vulg_]

[299 the _B_, _O'F:_ their _1633-69_]

[302 through penury. ] by penury, _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ confossi
gladio quam confossi fame. _Tr_ _See note_]

[304 hands _B_, _O'F:_ hand _1633-69_]

[312 so. ] so; _1633_]

[316 Thorough] Through _1669_]

[318 garments _1633:_ garment _1635-69:_ quem non possunt quin
tangant vestimentis suis _Tr_]

[320 not; _O'F_, _N_, _TCD:_ not, _1633-69_]

[322 dwell there; _Ed:_ dwell; there. _1633:_ dwell there.
_1635-39:_ dwell there _1650-54:_ dwell there: _1669_]

[325 their . . . the _1633-39:_ the . . . their _1650-69_]

[333-4 day. 19 Eagles _Ed: The old editions place a comma
after_ day, _and_ 19 _at the beginning of_ 335,
_wrongly. _]

[335 mountaine tops _1633-39:_ mountaines tops _1650-69_, _B_]

[340 fell. ] fell _1633_]

[342 which _1633:_ that _1635-69_

Huz _B:_ Hus _N_, _TCD:_ her, _1633:_ _Uz_, _1635-69:_ in
terra Hutzi _Tr_]

[345 And then] And _om. Chambers_]

[CHAP. ] CAP. _1633_]

[349 us;] us, _1633-35_]

[354 father _B_, _O'F:_ fathers _1633-69:_ Pupilli sumus ac
nullo patre _Tr:_ absque patre _Vulg_]

[355 drunke, _1633_, _N_, _TCD:_ drinke _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_]

[356 lay. _1650-69:_ lay, _1633-39_]

[368 Oven _1635-69:_ Ocean _1633:_ Pelles nostrae ut furnus
atratae sunt _Tr_]

[374 fell . . . bare. _1633-69:_ fall . . . beare. _B_, _O'F_]

[376 15 Gone _&c. _] _Old edd. transfer_ 15 _to next line,
wrongly. In consequence, the remaining verses are all a number
short, but the complete number of 22 is made up by breaking
the last verse_, 'For oughtest thou _&c. _,' _into two. I
have corrected throughout. _]

[389 thus,] thus _1633_]




_Hymne to God my God, in my sicknesse. _

Since I am comming to that Holy roome,
Where, with thy Quire of Saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy Musique; As I come
I tune the Instrument here at the dore,
And what I must doe then, thinke here before. 5

Whilst my Physitians by their love are growne
Cosmographers, and I their Mapp, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be showne
That this is my South-west discoverie
_Per fretum febris_, by these streights to die, 10

I joy, that in these straits, I see my West;
For, though theire currants yeeld returne to none,
What shall my West hurt me? As West and East
In all flatt Maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the Resurrection. 15

Is the Pacifique Sea my home? Or are
The Easterne riches? Is _Ierusalem_?
_Anyan_, and _Magellan_, and _Gibraltare_,
All streights, and none but streights, are wayes to them,
Whether where _Iaphet_ dwelt, or _Cham_, or _Sem_. 20

We thinke that _Paradise_ and _Calvarie_,
_Christs_ Crosse, and _Adams_ tree, stood in one place;
Looke Lord, and finde both _Adams_ met in me;
As the first _Adams_ sweat surrounds my face,
May the last _Adams_ blood my soule embrace. 25

So, in his purple wrapp'd receive mee Lord,
By these his thornes give me his other Crowne;
And as to others soules I preach'd thy word,
Be this my Text, my Sermon to mine owne,
Therfore that he may raise the Lord throws down. 30


[Hymn to God _&c. _ _1635-69_, _S96_, _and in part
Walton_ (Life of D^{r} John Donne. 1670), _who adds_ March
23, 1630]

[2 thy _1635 and Walton_ (_1670_): the _1639-69_]

[4 the Instrument _1635-69:_ my instrument _Walton_]

[6 Whilst . . . love] Since . . . loves _Walton_]

[10 to die, _1635:_ to die. _1639-54:_ to dy^{. } _1669_]

[12 theire _S96:_ those _1635-69_]

[18 _Gibraltare_, _1635-54:_ Gabraltare, _1669:_ Gibraltar?
_1719_, _Chambers:_ Gibraltar are _Grosart_. _See note_]

[19 but streights, _Ed:_ but streights _1635-69_]

[24 first] sist _1669_]

[28 others souls] other souls _Walton and S96_]

[30 That, he may raise; therefore, _Walton_]

* * * * *


[Illustration: JOHN DONNE

EFFIGIES REUERENDISS: UIRI IOHANNIS DONNE NUPER ECCLES: PAULINÆ DECANI

_Corporis hæc Animæ sit Syndon Syndon Jesu_

Amen

_Martin [DR monogram] scup_ _And are to be sould by RR and Ben: ffisher_

("Portrait of the very reverend John Donne, lately Dean of St Paul's. "
The meaning of the second line is highly obscure; possibly "May this be
the shroud of my body, Jesus the shroud of my soul"; or possibly: "May
this be the shroud of my body, Jesus's shroud that of my soul". The
monogram is that of Martin Droeshout)]

From the frontispiece to _Death's Duel_, 1632]

* * * * *




_A Hymne to God the Father:_

I.

Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne; through which I runne,
And do run still: though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 5
For, I have more.

II.

Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I have wonne
Others to sinne? and, made my sinne their doore?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I did shunne
A yeare, or two: but wallowed in, a score? 10
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

III.

I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne 15
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou haste done,
I feare no more.


[A Hymne _&c. _ _1633-69:_ To Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_
Christo Salvatori. _O'F_, _S96:_ _for the text of the MSS. see
next page_]

[2 Which] which _1633_]

[8 my sin] my sins _1639-69_]

[10 two: _1633:_ two, _1635-69_]




_To Christ. _

Wilt thou forgive that sinn, where I begunn,
W^{ch} is my sinn, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive those sinns through w^{ch} I runn
And doe them still, though still I doe deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 5
for I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sinn, by w^{ch} I'have wonne
Others to sinn, & made my sinn their dore?
Wilt thou forgive that sinn w^{ch} I did shunne
A yeare or twoe, but wallowed in a score? 10
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
for I have more.

I have a sinn of feare y^t when I have spunn
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
Sweare by thy self that at my Death, thy Sunn 15
Shall shine as it shines nowe, & heretofore;
And having done that, thou hast done,
I have noe more.


[Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Christo Salvatori. _O'F_,
_S96:_ _text from TCD_]

[1 begunn, _Ed:_ begunn _TCD_]

[2 were _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ was _O'F_, _S_ before? _Ed:_ before
_TCD_]

[4 them _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ runne _O'F_, _S96_]

[5 done, _Ed:_ done _TCD:_ _and so_ 11 _and_ 17]

[14 shore; _Ed:_ shore _TCD_]

[15 thy Sunne _O'F_, _S:_ this Sunn _A18_, _N_, _TC_]

[16 heretofore; _Ed:_ heretofore _TCD_]

* * * * *




ELEGIES UPON THE AUTHOR


TO THE MEMORIE OF MY EVER DESIRED FRIEND

D^r. DONNE.

To have liv'd eminent, in a degree
Beyond our lofty'st flights, that is, like Thee,
Or t'have had too much merit, is not safe;
For, such excesses finde no Epitaph.
At common graves we have Poetique eyes 5
Can melt themselves in easie Elegies,
Each quill can drop his tributary verse,
And pin it, like the Hatchments, to the Hearse:
But at Thine, Poeme, or Inscription
(Rich soule of wit, and language) we have none. 10
Indeed a silence does that tombe befit,
Where is no Herald left to blazon it.
Widow'd invention justly doth forbeare
To come abroad, knowing Thou art not here,
Late her great Patron; Whose Prerogative 15
Maintain'd, and cloth'd her so, as none alive
Must now presume, to keepe her at thy rate,
Though he the Indies for her dowre estate.
Or else that awfull fire, which once did burne
In thy cleare Braine, now falne into thy Urne 20
Lives there, to fright rude Empiricks from thence,
Which might prophane thee by their Ignorance.
Who ever writes of Thee, and in a stile
Unworthy such a Theme, does but revile
Thy precious Dust, and wake a learned Spirit 25
Which may revenge his Rapes upon thy Merit.
For, all a low pitch't phansie can devise,
Will prove, at best, but Hallow'd Injuries.
Thou, like the dying Swanne, didst lately sing
Thy Mournfull Dirge, in audience of the King; 30
When pale lookes, and faint accents of thy breath,
Presented so, to life, that peece of death,
That it was fear'd, and prophesi'd by all,
Thou thither cam'st to preach thy Funerall.
O! had'st Thou in an Elegiacke Knell 35
Rung out unto the world thine owne farewell,
And in thy High Victorious Numbers beate
The solemne measure of thy griev'd Retreat;
Thou might'st the Poets service now have mist
As well, as then thou did'st prevent the Priest; 40
And never to the world beholding bee
So much, as for an Epitaph for thee.
I doe not like the office. Nor is't fit
Thou, who did'st lend our Age such summes of wit,
Should'st now re-borrow from her bankrupt Mine, 45
That Ore to Bury Thee, which once was Thine,
Rather still leave us in thy debt; And know
(Exalted Soule) more glory 'tis to owe
Unto thy Hearse, what we can never pay,
Then, with embased Coine those Rites defray. 50
Commit we then Thee to Thy selfe: Nor blame
Our drooping loves, which thus to thy owne Fame
Leave Thee Executour. Since, but thine owne,
No pen could doe Thee Justice, nor Bayes Crowne
Thy vast desert; Save that, wee nothing can 55
Depute, to be thy Ashes Guardian.
So Jewellers no Art, or Metall trust
To forme the Diamond, but the Diamonds dust.

_H. K. _


[To the _&c. _ _Also in_ Deaths Duell. _1632_, _Walton's_ Lives
_1670_, _King's_ Poems. _1657_, _1664_, _1700_]

[14 here] there _1632_]

[31 faint] weak _1632_]

[57 or] nor _1632_]




To the deceased Author,

Upon the _Promiscuous_ printing of his Poems, the _Looser sort_, with
the _Religious_.

When thy _Loose_ raptures, _Donne_, shall meet with Those
That doe confine
Tuning, unto the Duller line,
And sing not, but in _Sanctified Prose_;
How will they, with sharper eyes, 5
The _Fore-skinne_ of thy phansie circumcise?
And feare, thy _wantonnesse_ should now, begin
_Example_, that hath ceased to be _Sin_?

And that _Feare_ fannes their _Heat_; whilst knowing eyes
Will not admire 10
At this _Strange Fire_,
That here is _mingled with thy Sacrifice_:
But dare reade even thy _Wanton Story_,
As thy _Confession_, not thy _Glory_.
And will so envie _Both_ to future times, 15
That they would buy thy _Goodnesse_, with thy _Crimes_.

_Tho: Browne. _




_On the death of D^r DONNE. _

I Cannot blame those men, that knew thee well,
Yet dare not helpe the world, to ring thy knell
In tunefull _Elegies_; there's not language knowne
Fit for thy mention, but 'twas first thy owne;
The _Epitaphs_ thou writst, have so bereft 5
Our tongue of wit, there is not phansie left
Enough to weepe thee; what henceforth we see
Of Art or Nature, must result from thee.
There may perchance some busie gathering friend
Steale from thy owne workes, and that, varied, lend, 10
Which thou bestow'st on others, to thy Hearse,
And so thou shalt live still in thine owne verse;
Hee that shall venture farther, may commit
A pitied errour, shew his zeale, not wit.
Fate hath done mankinde wrong; vertue may aime 15
Reward of conscience, never can, of fame,
Since her great trumpet's broke, could onely give
Faith to the world, command it to beleeve;
Hee then must write, that would define thy parts:
_Here lyes the best Divinitie, All the Arts. _ 20

_Edw. Hyde_.


[On the _&c. _ _Also in =Deaths Duell. = 1632_]

[4 thy] thine _1632_]

[6 tongue] pens _1632_]




_On Doctor =Donne=,

By D' =C. B. = of =O. =_

Hee that would write an Epitaph for thee,
And do it well, must first beginne to be
Such as thou wert; for, none can truly know
Thy worth, thy life, but he that hath liv'd so;
He must have wit to spare and to hurle downe: 5
Enough, to keepe the gallants of the towne.
He must have learning plenty; both the Lawes,
Civill, and Common, to judge any cause;
Divinity great store, above the rest;
Not of the last Edition, but the best. 10
Hee must have language, travaile, all the Arts;
Judgement to use; or else he wants thy parts.
He must have friends the highest, able to do;
Such as _Mecœnas_, and _Augustus_ too.
He must have such a sicknesse, such a death; 15
Or else his vaine descriptions come beneath;
Who then shall write an Epitaph for thee,
He must be dead first, let'it alone for mee.


[On _&c. _ _Also in Corbet's Poems 1647_]




_An Elegie upon the incomparable D^{r} DONNE. _

All is not well when such a one as I
Dare peepe abroad, and write an _Elegie_;
When smaller _Starres_ appeare, and give their light,
_Phœbus_ is gone to bed: Were it not night,
And the world witlesse now that DONNE is dead, 5
You sooner should have broke, then seene my head.
Dead did I say? Forgive this _Injury_
I doe him, and his worthes _Infinity_,
To say he is but dead; I dare averre
It better may be term'd a _Massacre_, 10
Then _Sleepe_ or _Death_; See how the _Muses_ mourne
Upon their oaten _Reeds_, and from his _Vrne_
Threaten the World with this _Calamity_,
They shall have _Ballads_, but no _Poetry_.
_Language_ lyes speechlesse; and _Divinity_, 15
Lost such a _Trump_ as even to _Extasie_
Could charme the Soule, and had an _Influence_
To teach best _judgements_, and please dullest _Sense_.
The _Court_, the _Church_, the _Vniversitie_,
Lost _Chaplaine_, _Deane_, and _Doctor_, All these, Three. 20
It was his _Merit_, that his _Funerall_
Could cause a losse so _great_ and _generall_.

If there be any Spirit can answer give
Of such as hence depart, to such as live:
Speake, Doth his body there vermiculate, 25
Crumble to dust, and feele the lawes of Fate?
Me thinkes, _Corruption_, _Wormes_, what else is foule
Should spare the _Temple_ of so faire a _Soule_.
I could beleeve they doe; but that I know
What inconvenience might hereafter grow: 30
Succeeding ages would _Idolatrize_,
And as his _Numbers_, so his _Reliques_ prize.

If that Philosopher, which did avow
The world to be but Motes, was living now:
He would affirme that th' _Atomes_ of his mould 35
Were they in severall bodies blended, would
Produce new worlds of _Travellers_, _Divines_,
Of _Linguists_, _Poets_: sith these severall _lines_
In him concentred were, and flowing thence
Might fill againe the worlds _Circumference_. 40
I could beleeve this too; and yet my faith
Not want a _President_: The _Phœnix_ hath
(And such was He) a power to animate
Her ashes, and herselfe perpetuate.
But, busie Soule, thou dost not well to pry 45
Into these Secrets; _Griefe_, and _Iealousie_,
The more they know, the further still advance,
And finde no way so safe as _Ignorance_.
Let this suffice thee, that his _Soule_ which flew
A pitch of all admir'd, known but of few, 50
(Save those of purer mould) is now translated
From Earth to Heaven, and there _Constellated_.
For, if each _Priest_ of God shine as a _Starre_,
His _Glory_ is as his _Gifts_, 'bove others farre.

HEN. VALENTINE.




_An Elegie upon D^{r}_ Donne.

Is _Donne_, great _Donne_ deceas'd? then England say
Thou 'hast lost a man where language chose to stay
And shew it's gracefull power. I would not praise
That and his vast wit (which in these vaine dayes
Make many proud) but as they serv'd to unlock 5
That Cabinet, his minde: where such a stock
Of knowledge was repos'd, as all lament
(Or should) this generall cause of discontent.
And I rejoyce I am not so severe,
But (as I write a line) to weepe a teare 10
For his decease; Such sad extremities
May make such men as I write _Elegies_.
And wonder not; for, when a generall losse
Falls on a nation, and they slight the crosse,
God hath rais'd _Prophets_ to awaken them 15
From stupifaction; witnesse my milde pen,
Not us'd to upbraid the world, though now it must
Freely and boldly, for, the cause is just.
Dull age, Oh I would spare thee, but th'art worse,
Thou art not onely dull, but hast a curse 20
Of black ingratitude; if not, couldst thou
Part with _miraculous Donne_, and make no vow
For thee and thine, successively to pay
A sad remembrance to his dying day?
Did his youth scatter _Poetrie_, wherein 25
Was all Philosophie? Was every sinne,
Character'd in his _Satyres_? made so foule
That some have fear'd their shapes, and kept their soule
Freer by reading verse? Did he give _dayes_
Past marble monuments, to those, whose praise 30
He would perpetuate? Did hee (I feare
The dull will doubt:) these at his twentieth yeare?
But, more matur'd: Did his full soule conceive,
And in harmonious-holy-numbers weave
[Sidenote: _La Corona. _]
A _Crowne of sacred sonets_, fit to adorne 35
A dying Martyrs brow: or, to be worne
On that blest head of _Mary Magdalen_:
After she wip'd Christs feet, but not till then?
Did hee (fit for such penitents as shee
And hee to use) leave us a _Litany_? 40
Which all devout men love, and sure, it shall,
As times grow better, grow more classicall.
Did he write _Hymnes_, for piety and wit
Equall to those great grave _Prudentius_ writ?
Spake he all _Languages_? knew he all _Lawes_? 45
The grounds and use of _Physicke_; but because
'Twas mercenary wav'd it? Went to see
That blessed place of _Christs nativity_?
Did he returne and preach him? preach him so
As none but hee did, or could do? They know 50
(Such as were blest to heare him know) 'tis truth.
Did he confirme thy age? convert thy youth?
Did he these wonders? And is this deare losse
Mourn'd by so few? (few for so great a crosse. )
But sure the silent are ambitious all 55
To be _Close Mourners_ at his Funerall;
If not; In common pitty they forbare
By repetitions to renew our care;
Or, knowing, griefe conceiv'd, conceal'd, consumes
Man irreparably, (as poyson'd fumes 60
Do waste the braine) make silence a safe way
To'inlarge the Soule from these walls, mud and clay,
(Materialls of this body) to remaine
With _Donne_ in heaven, where no promiscuous paine
Lessens the joy wee have, for, with _him_, all 65
Are satisfyed with _joyes essentiall_.
My thoughts, Dwell on this _Ioy_, and do not call
Griefe backe, by thinking of his Funerall;
Forget he lov'd mee; Waste not my sad yeares;
(Which haste to _Davids_ seventy, fill'd with feares 70
And sorrow for his death;) Forget his parts,
Which finde a living grave in good mens hearts;
And, (for, my first is daily paid for sinne)
Forget to pay my second sigh for him:
Forget his powerfull preaching; and forget 75
I am his _Convert_. Oh my frailtie! let
My flesh be no more heard, it will obtrude
This lethargie: so should my gratitude,
My vowes of gratitude should so be broke;
Which can no more be, then _Donnes_ vertues spoke 80
By any but himselfe; for which cause, I
Write no _Encomium_, but an _Elegie_.

IZ. WA.


[An Elegie _&c. _ _See note_]

[1-3

Our Donne is dead; England should mourne, may say
We had a man where language chose to stay
And shew her gracefull power _1635-69_
]

[35 _Crowne_] Crowme _1633_]




An Elegie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls, D^r. Iohn Donne:

By _M^r. Tho: Carie_.

Can we not force from widdowed Poetry,
Now thou art dead (Great DONNE) one Elegie
To crowne thy Hearse? Why yet dare we not trust
Though with unkneaded dowe-bak't prose thy dust,
Such as the uncisor'd Churchman from the flower 5
Of fading Rhetorique, short liv'd as his houre,
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay
Upon thy Ashes, on the funerall day?
Have we no voice, no tune? Did'st thou dispense
Through all our language, both the words and sense? 10
'Tis a sad truth: The Pulpit may her plaine,
And sober Christian precepts still retaine,
Doctrines it may, and wholesome Uses frame,
Grave Homilies, and Lectures, But the flame
Of thy brave Soule, that shot such heat and light, 15
As burnt our earth, and made our darknesse bright,
Committed holy Rapes upon our Will,
Did through the eye the melting heart distill;
And the deepe knowledge of darke truths so teach,
As sense might judge, what phansie could not reach; 20
Must be desir'd for ever. So the fire,
That fills with spirit and heat the Delphique quire,
Which kindled first by thy Promethean breath,
Glow'd here a while, lies quench't now in thy death;
The Muses garden with Pedantique weedes 25
O'rspred, was purg'd by thee; The lazie seeds
Of servile imitation throwne away;
And fresh invention planted, Thou didst pay
The debts of our penurious bankrupt age;
Licentious thefts, that make poëtique rage 30
A Mimique fury, when our soules must bee
Possest, or with Anacreons Extasie,
Or Pindars, not their owne; The subtle cheat
Of slie Exchanges, and the jugling feat
Of two-edg'd words, or whatsoever wrong 35
By ours was done the Greeke, or Latine tongue,
Thou hast redeem'd, and open'd Us a Mine
Of rich and pregnant phansie, drawne a line
Of masculine expression, which had good
Old Orpheus seene, Or all the ancient Brood 40
Our superstitious fooles admire, and hold
Their lead more precious, then thy burnish't Gold,
Thou hadst beene their Exchequer, and no more
They each in others dust, had rak'd for Ore.
Thou shalt yield no precedence, but of time, 45
And the blinde fate of language, whose tun'd chime
More charmes the outward sense; Yet thou maist claime
From so great disadvantage greater fame,
Since to the awe of thy imperious wit
Our stubborne language bends, made only fit 50
With her tough-thick-rib'd hoopes to gird about
Thy Giant phansie, which had prov'd too stout
For their soft melting Phrases. As in time
They had the start, so did they cull the prime
Buds of invention many a hundred yeare, 55
And left the rifled fields, besides the feare
To touch their Harvest, yet from those bare lands
Of what is purely thine, thy only hands
(And that thy smallest worke) have gleaned more
Then all those times, and tongues could reape before; 60
But thou art gone, and thy strict lawes will be
Too hard for Libertines in Poetrie.
They will repeale the goodly exil'd traine
Of gods and goddesses, which in thy just raigne
Were banish'd nobler Poems, now, with these 65
The silenc'd tales o'th'Metamorphoses
Shall stuffe their lines, and swell the windy Page,
Till Verse refin'd by thee, in this last Age,
Turne ballad rime, Or those old Idolls bee
Ador'd againe, with new apostasie; 70
Oh, pardon mee, that breake with untun'd verse
The reverend silence that attends thy herse,
Whose awfull solemne murmures were to thee
More then these faint lines, A loud Elegie,
That did proclaime in a dumbe eloquence 75
The death of all the Arts, whose influence
Growne feeble, in these panting numbers lies
Gasping short winded Accents, and so dies:
So doth the swiftly turning wheele not stand
In th'instant we withdraw the moving hand, 80
But some small time maintaine a faint weake course
By vertue of the first impulsive force:
And so whil'st I cast on thy funerall pile
Thy crowne of Bayes, Oh, let it crack a while,
And spit disdaine, till the devouring flashes 85
Suck all the moysture up, then turne to ashes.
I will not draw the envy to engrosse
All thy perfections, or weepe all our losse;
Those are too numerous for an Elegie,
And this too great, to be express'd by mee. 90
Though every pen should share a distinct part,
Yet art thou Theme enough to tyre all Art;
Let others carve the rest, it shall suffice
I on thy Tombe this Epitaph incise.

_Here lies a King, that rul'd as hee thought fit 95
The universall Monarchy of wit;
Here lie two Flamens, and both those, the best,
Apollo's first, at last, the true Gods Priest_.


[An Elegie _&c. _ _Also in Carew's _Poems_ 1640. _ _See note_]




_An Elegie on D^r. DONNE: By Sir Lucius Carie. _

Poets attend, the Elegie I sing
Both of a doubly-named Priest, and King:
In stead of Coates, and Pennons, bring your Verse,
For you must bee chiefe mourners at his Hearse,
A Tombe your Muse must to his Fame supply, 5
No other Monuments can never die;
And as he was a two-fold Priest; in youth,
Apollo's; afterwards, the voice of Truth,
Gods Conduit-pipe for grace, who chose him for
His extraordinary Embassador, 10
So let his Liegiers with the Poets joyne,
Both having shares, both must in griefe combine:
Whil'st Johnson forceth with his Elegie
Teares from a griefe-unknowing Scythians eye,
(Like Moses at whose stroke the waters gusht 15
From forth the Rock, and like a Torrent rusht. )
Let Lawd his funerall Sermon preach, and shew
Those vertues, dull eyes were not apt to know,
Nor leave that Piercing Theme, till it appeares
To be goodfriday, by the Churches Teares; 20
Yet make not griefe too long oppresse our Powers,
Least that his funerall Sermon should prove ours.
Nor yet forget that heavenly Eloquence,
With which he did the bread of life dispense,
Preacher and Orator discharg'd both parts 25
With pleasure for our sense, health for our hearts,
And the first such (Though a long studied Art
Tell us our soule is all in every part,)
None was so marble, but whil'st him he heares,
His Soule so long dwelt only in his eares. 30
And from thence (with the fiercenesse of a flood
Bearing downe vice) victual'd with that blest food
Their hearts; His seed in none could faile to grow,
Fertile he found them all, or made them so:
No Druggist of the Soule bestow'd on all 35
So Catholiquely a curing Cordiall.
Nor only in the Pulpit dwelt his store,
His words work'd much, but his example more,
That preach't on worky dayes, His Poetrie
It selfe was oftentimes divinity, 40
Those Anthemes (almost second Psalmes) he writ
To make us know the Crosse, and value it,
(Although we owe that reverence to that name
Wee should not need warmth from an under flame. )
Creates a fire in us, so neare extreme 45
That we would die, for, and upon this theme.
Next, his so pious Litany, which none can
But count Divine, except a Puritan,
And that but for the name, nor this, nor those
Want any thing of Sermons, but the prose. 50
Experience makes us see, that many a one
Owes to his Countrey his Religion;
And in another, would as strongly grow,
Had but his Nurse and Mother taught him so,
Not hee the ballast on his Judgement hung; 55
Nor did his preconceit doe either wrong;
He labour'd to exclude what ever sinne
By time or carelessenesse had entred in;
Winnow'd the chaffe from wheat, but yet was loath
A too hot zeale should force him, burne them both; 60
Nor would allow of that so ignorant gall,
Which to save blotting often would blot all;
Nor did those barbarous opinions owne,
To thinke the Organs sinne, and faction, none;
Nor was there expectation to gaine grace 65
From forth his Sermons only, but his face;
So Primitive a looke, such gravitie
With humblenesse, and both with Pietie;
So milde was Moses countenance, when he prai'd
For them whose Satanisme his power gainsaid; 70
And such his gravitie, when all Gods band
Receiv'd his word (through him) at second hand,
Which joyn'd, did flames of more devotion move
Then ever Argive Hellens could of love.
Now to conclude, I must my reason bring, 75
Wherefore I call'd him in his title King,
That Kingdome the Philosophers beleev'd
To excell Alexanders, nor were griev'd
By feare of losse (that being such a Prey
No stronger then ones selfe can force away) 80
The Kingdome of ones selfe, this he enjoy'd,
And his authoritie so well employ'd,
That never any could before become
So Great a Monarch, in so small a roome;
He conquer'd rebell passions, rul'd them so, 85
As under-spheares by the first Mover goe,
Banish't so farre their working, that we can
But know he had some, for we knew him man.
Then let his last excuse his first extremes,
His age saw visions, though his youth dream'd dreams. 90


[72 Receiv'd] Receiv' _1633_]




_On D^{r}. _ DONNES _death_:

_By M^{r}. _ Mayne _of Christ-Church in Oxford. _

Who shall presume to mourn thee, _Donne_, unlesse
He could his teares in thy expressions dresse,
And teach his griefe that reverence of thy Hearse,
To weepe lines, learned, as thy Anniverse,
A Poëme of that worth, whose every teare 5
Deserves the title of a severall yeare.
Indeed so farre above its Reader, good,
That wee are thought wits, when 'tis understood,
There that blest maid to die, who now should grieve?
After thy sorrow, 'twere her losse to live; 10
And her faire vertues in anothers line,
Would faintly dawn, which are made Saints in thine.
Hadst thou beene shallower, and not writ so high,
Or left some new way for our pennes, or eye,
To shed a funerall teare, perchance thy Tombe 15
Had not beene speechlesse, or our Muses dumbe;
But now wee dare not write, but must conceale
Thy Epitaph, lest we be thought to steale,
For, who hath read thee, and discernes thy worth,
That will not say, thy carelesse houres brought forth 20
Fancies beyond our studies, and thy play
Was happier, then our serious time of day?
So learned was thy chance; thy haste had wit,
And matter from thy pen flow'd rashly fit,
What was thy recreation turnes our braine, 25
Our rack and palenesse, is thy weakest straine.
And when we most come neere thee, 'tis our blisse
To imitate thee, where thou dost amisse.
Here light your muse, you that do onely thinke,
And write, and are just Poëts, as you drinke, 30
In whose weake fancies wit doth ebbe and flow,
Just as your recknings rise, that wee may know
In your whole carriage of your worke, that here
This flash you wrote in Wine, and this in Beere,
This is to tap your Muse, which running long 35
Writes flat, and takes our eare not halfe so strong;
Poore Suburbe wits, who, if you want your cup,
Or if a Lord recover, are blowne up.
Could you but reach this height, you should not need
To make, each meale, a project ere you feed, 40
Nor walke in reliques, clothes so old and bare,
As if left off to you from _Ennius_ were,
Nor should your love, in verse, call Mistresse, those,
Who are mine hostesse, or your whores in prose;
From this Muse learne to Court, whose power could move 45
A Cloystred coldnesse, or a Vestall love,
And would convey such errands to their eare,
That Ladies knew no oddes to grant and heare;
But I do wrong thee, _Donne_, and this low praise
Is written onely for thy yonger dayes. 50
I am not growne up, for thy riper parts,
Then should I praise thee, through the Tongues, and Arts,
And have that deepe Divinity, to know,
What mysteries did from thy preaching flow,
Who with thy words could charme thy audience, 55
That at thy sermons, eare was all our sense;
Yet have I seene thee in the pulpit stand,
Where wee might take notes, from thy looke, and hand;
And from thy speaking action beare away
More Sermon, then some teachers use to say. 60
Such was thy carriage, and thy gesture such,
As could divide the heart, and conscience touch.
Thy motion did confute, and wee might see
An errour vanquish'd by delivery.
Not like our Sonnes of Zeale, who to reforme 65
Their hearers, fiercely at the Pulpit storme,
And beate the cushion into worse estate,
Then if they did conclude it reprobate,
Who can out pray the glasse, then lay about
Till all Predestination be runne out. 70
And from the point such tedious uses draw,
Their repetitions would make Gospell, Law.
No, In such temper would thy Sermons flow,
So well did Doctrine, and thy language show,
And had that holy feare, as, hearing thee, 75
The Court would mend, and a good Christian bee.
And Ladies though unhansome, out of grace,
Would heare thee, in their unbought lookes, and face.
More I could write, but let this crowne thine Urne,
Wee cannot hope the like, till thou returne. 80




_Upon M^r J. Donne, and his Poems. _

Who dares say thou art dead, when he doth see
(Unburied yet) this living part of thee?
This part that to thy beeing gives fresh flame,
And though th'art _Donne_, yet will preserve thy name.
Thy flesh (whose channels left their crimsen hew, 5
And whey-like ranne at last in a pale blew)
May shew thee mortall, a dead palsie may
Seise on't, and quickly turne it into clay;
Which like the Indian earth, shall rise refin'd:
But this great Spirit thou hast left behinde, 10
This Soule of Verse (in it's first pure estate)
Shall live, for all the World to imitate,
But not come neer, for in thy Fancies flight
Thou dost not stoope unto the vulgar fight,
But, hovering highly in the aire of Wit, 15
Hold'st such a pitch, that few can follow it;
Admire they may. Each object that the Spring
(Or a more piercing influence) doth bring
T'adorne Earths face, thou sweetly did'st contrive
To beauties elements, and thence derive 20
Unspotted Lillies white; which thou did'st set
Hand in hand, with the veine-like Violet,
Making them soft, and warme, and by thy power,
Could'st give both life, and sense, unto a flower.
The Cheries thou hast made to speake, will bee 25
Sweeter unto the taste, then from the tree.
And (spight of winter stormes) amidst the snow
Thou oft hast made the blushing Rose to grow.
The Sea-nimphs, that the watry cavernes keepe,
Have sent their Pearles and Rubies from the deepe 30
To deck thy love, and plac'd by thee, they drew
More lustre to them, then where first they grew.
All minerals (that Earths full wombe doth hold
Promiscuously) thou couldst convert to gold,
And with thy flaming raptures so refine, 35
That it was much more pure then in the Mine.
The lights that guild the night, if thou did'st say,
They looke like eyes, those did out-shine the day;
For there would be more vertue in such spells,
Then in Meridians, or crosse Parallels: 40
What ever was of worth in this great Frame,
That Art could comprehend, or Wit could name,
It was thy theme for Beauty; thou didst see,
Woman, was this faire Worlds Epitomie.
Thy nimble _Satyres_ too, and every straine 45
(With nervy strength) that issued from thy brain,
Will lose the glory of their owne cleare bayes,
If they admit of any others praise.
But thy diviner Poëms (whose cleare fire
Purges all drosse away) shall by a Quire 50
Of Cherubims, with heavenly Notes be set
(Where flesh and blood could ne'r attaine to yet)
There purest Spirits sing such sacred Layes,
In Panegyrique Alleluiaes.

_Arth. Wilson. _




_In memory of Doctor Donne: By M^{r} R. B. _

_Donne_ dead? 'Tis here reported true, though I
Ne'r yet so much desir'd to heare a lye,
'Tis too too true, for so wee finde it still,
Good newes are often false, but seldome, ill:
But must poore fame tell us his fatall day, 5
And shall we know his death, the common way,
Mee thinkes some Comet bright should have foretold
The death of such a man, for though of old
'Tis held, that Comets Princes death foretell,
Why should not his, have needed one as well? 10
Who was the Prince of wits, 'mongst whom he reign'd,
High as a Prince, and as great State maintain'd?
Yet wants he not his signe, for wee have seene
A dearth, the like to which hath never beene,
Treading on harvests heeles, which doth presage 15
The death of wit and learning, which this age
Shall finde, now he is gone; for though there bee
Much graine in shew, none brought it forth as he,
Or men are misers; or if true want raises
The dearth, then more that dearth _Donnes_ plenty praises. 20
Of learning, languages, of eloquence,
And Poësie, (past rauishing of sense,)
He had a magazine, wherein such store
Was laid up, as might hundreds serve of poore.
But he is gone, O how will his desire 25
Torture all those that warm'd them by his fire?
Mee thinkes I see him in the pulpit standing,
Not eares, or eyes, but all mens hearts commanding,
Where wee that heard him, to our selves did faine
Golden Chrysostome was alive againe; 30
And never were we weari'd, till we saw
His houre (and but an houre) to end did draw.
How did he shame the doctrine-men, and use,
With helps to boot, for men to beare th'abuse
Of their tir'd patience, and endure th'expence 35
Of time, O spent in hearkning to non-sense,
With markes also, enough whereby to know,
The speaker is a zealous dunce, or so.
'Tis true, they quitted him, to their poore power,
They humm'd against him; And with face most sowre 40
Call'd him a strong lin'd man, a Macaroon,
And no way fit to speake to clouted shoone,
As fine words [truly] as you would desire,
But [verily,] but a bad edifier.
Thus did these beetles slight in him that good, 45
They could not see, and much lesse understood.
But we may say, when we compare the stuffe
Both brought; He was a candle, they the snuffe.
Well, Wisedome's of her children justifi'd,
Let therefore these poore fellowes stand aside; 50
Nor, though of learning he deserv'd so highly,
Would I his booke should save him; Rather slily
I should advise his Clergie not to pray,
Though of the learn'dst sort; Me thinkes that they
Of the same trade, are Judges not so fit, 55
There's no such emulation as of wit.
Of such, the Envy might as much perchance
Wrong him, and more, then th'others ignorance.
It was his Fate (I know't) to be envy'd
As much by Clerkes, as lay men magnifi'd; 60
And why? but 'cause he came late in the day,
And yet his Penny earn'd, and had as they.
No more of this, least some should say, that I
Am strai'd to Satyre, meaning Elegie.
No, no, had DONNE need to be judg'd or try'd, 65
A Jury I would summon on his side,
That had no sides, nor factions, past the touch
Of all exceptions, freed from Passion, such
As nor to feare nor flatter, e'r were bred,
These would I bring, though called from the dead: 70
Southampton, Hambleton, Pembrooke, Dorsets Earles,
Huntingdon, Bedfords Countesses (the Pearles
Once of each sexe. ) If these suffice not, I
Ten _decem tales_ have of Standers by:
All which, for DONNE, would such a verdict give, 75
As can belong to none, that now doth live.
But what doe I? A diminution 'tis
To speake of him in verse, so short of his,
Whereof he was the master; All indeed
Compar'd with him, pip'd on an Oaten reed. 80
O that you had but one 'mongst all your brothers
Could write for him, as he hath done for others:
(Poets I speake to) When I see't, I'll say,
My eye-sight betters, as my yeares decay,
Meane time a quarrell I shall ever have 85
Against these doughty keepers from the grave,
Who use, it seemes their old Authoritie,
When (Verses men immortall make) they cry:
Which had it been a Recipe true tri'd,
_Probatum esset_, DONNE had never dy'd. 90
For mee, if e'r I had least sparke at all
Of that which they Poetique fire doe call,
Here I confesse it fetched from his hearth,
Which is gone out, now he is gone to earth.
This only a poore flash, a lightning is 95
Before my Muses death, as after his.
Farewell (faire soule) and deigne receive from mee
This Type of that devotion I owe thee,
From whom (while living) as by voice and penne
I learned more, then from a thousand men: 100
So by thy death, am of one doubt releas'd,
And now beleeve that miracles are ceas'd.




_Epitaph. _

_Heere lies Deane Donne_; Enough; Those words alone
Shew him as fully, as if all the stone
His Church of Pauls contains, were through inscrib'd
Or all the walkers there, to speake him, brib'd.
None can mistake him, for one such as Hee 5
DONNE, Deane, or Man, more none shall ever see.
Not man? No, though unto a Sunne each eye
Were turn'd, the whole earth so to overspie.