No More Learning

] 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.
A bold brave word; Yet such brave Spirits as knew
His Spirit, will say, it is lesse bold then true. 10




_Epitaph upon D^r. Donne_,

By _Endy: Porter_.

This decent Urne a sad inscription weares,
Of _Donnes_ departure from us, to the spheares;
And the dumbe stone with silence seemes to tell
The changes of this life, wherein is well
Exprest, A cause to make all joy to cease, 5
And never let our sorrowes more take ease;
For now it is impossible to finde
One fraught with vertues, to inrich a minde;
But why should death, with a promiscuous hand
At one rude stroke impoverish a land? 10
Thou strict Attorney, unto stricter Fate,
Didst thou confiscate his life out of hate
To his rare Parts? Or didst thou throw thy dart,
With envious hand, at some Plebeyan heart;
And he with pious vertue stept betweene 15
To save that stroke, and so was kill'd unseene
By thee? O 'twas his goodnesse so to doe,
Which humane kindnesse never reacht unto.
Thus the hard lawes of death were satisfi'd,
And he left us like Orphan friends, and di'de. 20
Now from the Pulpit to the peoples eares,
Whose speech shall send repentant sighes, and teares?
Or tell mee, if a purer Virgin die,
Who shall hereafter write her Elegie?
Poets be silent, let your numbers sleepe, 25
For he is gone that did all phansie keepe;
Time hath no Soule, but his exalted verse;
Which with amazements, we may now reherse.




In obitum venerabilis viri _Iohannis Donne_, sacræ
Theologiæ Doctoris, Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Divi _Pauli_,
nuper Decani; Illi honoris, tibi (multum mihi colende
Vir) observantiæ ergo Hæc ego.

_Conquerar? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu?
Sed lachrimæ clausistis iter: nec muta querelas
Lingua potest proferre pias: ignoscite manes
Defuncti, & tacito finite indulgere dolori.
Sed scelus est tacuisse: cadant in mœsta lituræ 5
Verba. Tuis (docta umbra) tuis hæc accipe jussis
Cæpta, nec officii contemnens pignora nostri
Aversare tuâ non dignum laude Poëtam.
O si Pythagoræ non vanum dogma fuisset:
Inque meum â vestro migraret pectore pectus 10
Musa, repentinos tua nosceret urna furores.
Sed frustra, heu frustra hæc votis puerilibus opto:
Tecum abiit, summoque sedens jam monte Thalia
Ridet anhelantes, Parnassi & culmina vates
Desperare jubet. Verum hâc nolente coactos 15
Scribimus audaces numeros, & flebile carmen
Scribimus (ô soli qui te dilexit) habendum.
Siccine perpetuus liventia lumina somnus
Clausit? & immerito merguntur funere virtus?
Et pietas? & quæ poterant fecisse beatum, 20
Cætera, sed nec te poterant servare beatum.
Quo mihi doctrinam? quorsum impallescere chartis
Nocturnis juvat? & totidem olfecisse lucernas?
Decolor & longos studiis deperdere Soles
Vt prius aggredior, longamque arcessere famam. 25
Omnia sed frustra: mihi dum cunctisque minatur
Exitium crudele & inexorabile fatum.
Nam post te sperare nihil decet: hoc mihi restat
Vt moriar, tenues fugiatque obscurus in auras
Spiritus: ô doctis saltem si cognitus umbris. 30
Illic te (venerande) iterum, (venerande) videbo.
Et dulces audire sonós, & verba diserti
Oris, & æternas dabitur mihi carpere voces.
Quêis ferus infernæ tacuisset Ianitor aulæ
Auditis: Nilusque minus strepuisset: Arion 35
Cederet, & sylvas qui post se traxerat Orpheus.
Eloquio sic ille viros, sic ille movere
Voce feros potuit: quis enim tam barbarus? aut tam
Facundis nimis infestus non motus ut illo
Hortante, & blando victus sermone sileret? 40
Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat,
Singula sic decuere senem, sic omnia. Vidi,
Audivi & stupui quoties orator in Æde
Paulina stetit, & mira gravitate levantes
Corda, oculosque viros tenuit: dum Nestoris ille 45
Fudit verba (omni quanta mage dulcia melle? )
Nunc habet attonitos, pandit mysteria plebi
Non concessa prius nondum intellecta: revolvunt
Mirantes, tacitique arrectis auribus astant.
Mutatis mox ille modo, formaque loquendi 50
Tristia pertractat: fatumque & flebile mortis
Tempus, & in cineres redeunt quod corpora primos.
Tunc gemitum cunctos dare, tunc lugere videres,
Forsitan à lachrymis aliquis non temperat, atque
Ex oculis largum stillat rorem; ætheris illo 55
Sic pater audito voluit succumbere turbam,
Affectusque ciere suos, & ponere notæ
Vocis ad arbitrium, divinæ oracula mentis
Dum narrat, rostrisque potens dominatur in altis.
Quo feror? audaci & forsan pietate nocenti 60
In nimia ignoscas vati, qui vatibus olim
Egregium decus, et tanto excellentior unus
Omnibus; inferior quanto est, et pessimus, impar
Laudibus hisce, tibi qui nunc facit ista Poëta.
Et quo nos canimus? cur hæc tibi sacra? Poëtæ 65
Desinite: en fati certus, sibi voce canorâ
Inferias præmisit olor, cum Carolus Albâ
(Vltima volventem et Cycnæâ voce loquentem)
Nuper eum, turba & magnatum audiret in Aulâ.
Tunc Rex, tunc Proceres, Clerus, tunc astitit illi 70
Aula frequens. Solâ nunc in tellure recumbit,
Vermibus esca, pio malint nisi parcere: quidni
Incipiant & amare famem? Metuere Leones
Sic olim, sacrosque artus violare Prophetæ
Bellua non ausa est qùamquam jejuna, sitimque 75
Optaret nimis humano satiare cruore.
At non hæc de te sperabimus; omnia carpit
Prædator vermis: nec talis contigit illi
Præda diu; forsan metrico pede serpet ab inde:
Vescere, & exhausto satia te sanguine. Iam nos 80
Adsumus; et post te cupiet quis vivere? Post te
Quis volet, aut poterit? nam post te vivere mors est.
Et tamen ingratas ignavi ducimus auras:
Sustinet & tibi lingua vale, vale dicere: parce
Non festinanti æternum requiescere turbæ. 85
Ipsa satis properat quæ nescit Parca morari,
Nunc urgere colum, trahere atque occare videmus.
Quin rursus (Venerande) Vale, vale: ordine nos te
Quo Deus, & quo dura volet natura sequemur.
Depositum interea lapides servate fideles. 90
Fœlices illâ quêis Ædis parte locari
Quâ jacet iste datur. Forsan lapis inde loquetur,
Parturietque viro plenus testantia luctus
Verba: & carminibus quæ Donni suggeret illi
Spiritus, insolitos testari voce calores 95
Incipiet: (non sic Pyrrhâ jactante calebat. )
Mole sub hâc tegitur quicquid mortale relictum est
De tanto mortale viro. Qui præfuit Ædi huic,
Formosi pecoris pastor, formosior ipse.
Ite igitur, dignisque illum celebrate loquelis, 100
Et quæ demuntur vitæ date tempora famæ. _

Indignus tantorum meritorum Præco, virtutum
tuarum cultor religiosissimus,

DANIEL DARNELLY.


[In obitum _&c. _ _1635-69_, _taking the place of the lines by
Tho: Browne_. ]

[10 pectore] pectore, _1635_]

[21 beatum. ] beatum _1635_]

[23 olfecisse] olfecissë _1635_]

[25 prius aggredior, _1635-69_: prius, aggredior, _1719_
arcessere _Ed_: accessere _1635-69_]

[26-7 mihi dum . . . Exitium _1719_: mihi, dum . . . Exitium,
_1635-39_: mihi dum, . . . Exitium, _1650-69_]

[38 Voce feros] Voceferos _1635_, _1669_]

[79 inde:] inde _1635-39_]

[86 Parca] parca _1635-69_

morari,] morari _1635_]

[88 rursus _1719_: rusus _1635_: nusus _1639-69_]

[96 Incipiet: . . . calebat. _1719_: _no stops_, _1635-69_]




_Elegie on D. D. _

Now, by one yeare, time and our frailtie have
Lessened our first confusion, since the Grave
Clos'd thy deare Ashes, and the teares which flow
In these, have no springs, but of solid woe:
Or they are drops, which cold amazement froze 5
At thy decease, and will not thaw in Prose:
All streames of Verse which shall lament that day,
Doe truly to the Ocean tribute pay;
But they have lost their saltnesse, which the eye
In recompence of wit, strives to supply: 10
Passions excesse for thee wee need not feare,
Since first by thee our passions hallowed were;
Thou mad'st our sorrowes, which before had bin
Onely for the Successe, sorrowes for sinne,
We owe thee all those teares, now thou art dead, 15
Which we shed not, which for our selves we shed.
Nor didst thou onely consecrate our teares,
Give a religious tincture to our feares;
But even our joyes had learn'd an innocence,
Thou didst from gladnesse separate offence: 20
All mindes at once suckt grace from thee, as where
(The curse revok'd) the Nations had one eare.
Pious dissector: thy one houre did treate
The thousand mazes of the hearts deceipt;
Thou didst pursue our lov'd and subtill sinne, 25
Through all the foldings wee had wrapt it in,
And in thine owne large minde finding the way
By which our selves we from our selves convey,
Didst in us, narrow models, know the same
Angles, though darker, in our meaner frame. 30
How short of praise is this? My Muse, alas,
Climbes weakly to that truth which none can passe,
Hee that writes best, may onely hope to leave
A Character of all he could conceive
But none of thee, and with mee must confesse, 35
That fansie findes some checke, from an excesse
Of merit most, of nothing, it hath spun,
And truth, as reasons task and theame, doth shunne.
She makes a fairer flight in emptinesse,
Than when a bodied truth doth her oppresse. 40
Reason againe denies her scales, because
Hers are but scales, shee judges by the lawes
Of weake comparison, thy vertue sleights
Her feeble Beame, and her unequall Weights.
What prodigie of wit and pietie 45
Hath she else knowne, by which to measure thee?
Great soule: we can no more the worthinesse
Of what you were, then what you are, expresse.

_Sidney Godolphin. _


[Footnote: Elegie on D. D. _1635-69_: _it follows Walton's
elegy. _]




_On D^{r}_ John Donne, _late Deane of S. _ Paules, _London_.

Long since this taske of teares from you was due,
Long since, ô Poëts, he did die to you,
Or left you dead, when wit and he tooke flight
On divine wings, and soard out of your sight.
Preachers, 'tis you must weep; The wit he taught 5
You doe enjoy; the Rebels which he brought
From ancient discord, Giants faculties,
And now no more religions enemies;
Honest to knowing, unto vertuous sweet,
Witty to good, and learned to discreet, 10
He reconcil'd, and bid the Vsurper goe;
Dulnesse to vice, religion ought to flow;
He kept his loves, but not his objects; wit
Hee did not banish, but transplanted it,
Taught it his place and use, and brought it home 15
To Pietie, which it doth best become;
He shew'd us how for sinnes we ought to sigh,
And how to sing Christs Epithalamy:
The Altars had his fires, and there hee spoke
Incense of loves, and fansies holy smoake: 20
Religion thus enrich'd, the people train'd,
And God from dull vice had the fashion gain'd.
The first effects sprung in the giddy minde
Of flashy youth, and thirst of woman-kinde,
By colours lead, and drawne to a pursuit, 25
Now once againe by beautie of the fruit,
As if their longings too must set us free,
And tempt us now to the commanded tree.
Tell me, had ever pleasure such a dresse,
Have you knowne crimes so shap'd? or lovelinesse 30
Such as his lips did cloth religion in?
Had not reproofe a beauty passing sinne?
Corrupted nature sorrow'd when she stood
So neare the danger of becomming good,
And wish'd our so inconstant eares exempt 35
From piety that had such power to tempt:
Did not his sacred flattery beguile
Man to amendment? The law, taught to smile,
Pension'd our vanitie, and man grew well
Through the same frailtie by which he fell. 40
O the sick state of man, health does not please
Our tasts, but in the shape of the disease.
Thriftlesse is charitie, coward patience,
Iustice is cruell, mercy want of sense.
What meanes our Nature to barre vertue place, 45
If shee doe come in her owne cloathes and face?
Is good a pill, we dare not chaw to know?
Sense the soules servant, doth it keep us so
As we might starve for good, unlesse it first
Doe leave a pawne of relish in the gust? 50
Or have we to salvation no tie
At all, but that of our infirmitie?
Who treats with us must our affections move
To th' good we flie by those sweets which we love,
Must seeke our palats, and with their delight 55
To gaine our deeds, must bribe our appetite.
These traines he knew, and laying nets to save,
Temptingly sugred all the health hee gave.
But, where is now that chime? that harmony
Hath left the world, now the loud organ may 60
Appeare, the better voyce is fled to have
A thousand times the sweetnesse which it gave.
I cannot say how many thousand spirits
The single happinesse this soule inherits,
Damnes in the other world, soules whom no crosse 65
O'th sense afflicts, but onely of the losse,
Whom ignorance would halfe save, all whose paine
Is not in what they feele, but others gaine,
Selfe executing wretched spirits, who
Carrying their guilt, transport their envy too: 70
But those high joyes which his wits youngest flame
Would hurt to chuse, shall not we hurt to name?
Verse statues are all robbers, all we make
Of monument, thus doth not give but take
As Sailes which Seamen to a forewinde fit, 75
By a resistance, goe along with it,
So pens grow while they lessen fame so left;
A weake assistance is a kinde of theft.
Who hath not love to ground his teares upon,
Must weep here if he have ambition.

_I. Chudleigh. _


[On D^{r} John Donne _&c. _ _1635-69_, _where it follows
Godolphin's_ Elegie]




FINIS.




APPENDIX A.

LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS


DE LIBRO CVM MVTV-
aretur Impresso; Domi à pueris
frustatim lacerato; et post reddito
Manuscripto.

Doctissimo Amicissimoque v.
D. D. Andrews.


_Parturiunt madido quae nixu praela, recepta,
Sed quae scripta manu, sunt veneranda magis.
Qui liber in pluteos, blattis cinerique relictos,
Si modo sit praeli sanguine tinctus, abit;
Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur, 5
Involat et veterum scrinia summa Patrum.
Dicat Apollo modum; Pueros infundere libro
Nempe vetustatem canitiemque novo.
Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos,
Haec nova fata libra posse dedisse novo.