Parents shame let it forgotten be And may the sad example die with thee It is not now thy grieved friends intent To render thee dull Pities argument Thou hast a bolder title unto fame And at Edge-Hill thou didst make good the claime When in thy Royal Masters Cause and Warre Thy ventur'd life brought off a noble skarre Nor did thy faithful services desist Till death untimely strook thee from the List Though in that prouder vault then which doth tomb Thy ancestors thy body find not room Thine own deserts have purchas'd thee a place Which more renowned is then all thy race For in this earth thou dost ennobled ly With marks of Valour and of Loyalty To my dead friend Ben Johnson I See that wreath which doth the wearer arm ' Gainst the quick strokes of thunder is no charm To keep off deaths pale dart For Johnson then Thou hadst been number'd still with living men Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade Nor thee this subject of our sorrow made Amongst those many votaries who come To offer up their Garlands at thy Tombe Whil'st some more lofty pens in their bright verse Like glorious Tapers flaming on thy herse Shall light the dull and thankless world to see How great a maim it suffers wanting thee Let not thy learned shadow scorn that I Pay meaner Rites unto thy memory And since I nought can adde but in desire Restore some sparks which leapt from thine own fire What ends soever others quills invite I can protest it was no â—tch to write Nor any vain ambition to be read But meerly Love and Justice to the dead Which rais'd my fameless Muse and caus'd her bring These drops as tribute thrown into that spring To whose most rich and fruitful head we ow The purest streams of language which can flow For 't is but truth thou taught'st the ruder age To speake by Grammar and reform'dst the Stage Thy Comick Sock induc'd such purged sence A Lucrece might have heard without offence Amongst those soaring wits that did dilate Our English and advance it to the rate And value it now holds thy self was one Helpt lift it up to such proportion That thus refin'd and roab'd it shall not spare With the full Greck or Latine to compare For what tongue ever durst but ours translate Great Tully's Eloquence or Homers State Both which in their unblemisht lustre shine From Chapmans pen and from thy Catiline All I would ask for thee in recompence Of thy successful toyl and times expence Is onely this poor Boon that those who can Perhaps read French or talk Italian Or do the lofty Spaniard affect To shew their skill in Forrein Dialect Prove not themselves so unnaturally wife They therefore should their Mother-tongue despise As if her Poets both for style and wit Not equall'd or not pass'd their best that writ Untill by studying Johnson they have known The height and strength and plenty of their own Thus in what low earth or neglected room Soere thou sleep'st thy book shall be thy tomb Thou wilt go down a happy Coarse bestrew'd With thine own Flowres and feel thy self renew'd Whil'st thy immortal neve-with'ring Bayes Shall yearly flourish in thy Readers praise And when more spreading Titles are forgot Or spight of all their Lead and Sear-cloth rot Thou wrapt and Shrin'd in thine own sheets wilt ly A Relick fam'd by all Posterity AN ELEGY Vpon Prince Henry's death KEep station Nature and rest Heaven sure On thy supporters shoulders lest past cure Thou dasht in ruine fall by a griefs weight Will make thy basis shrink and lay thy height Low as the Center Heark and feel it read Through the astonisht Kingdom Henry's dead It is enough who seeks to aggravate One strain beyond this prove more sharp his fate Then sad our doom The world dares not survive To parallel this woes superlative O killing Rhetorick of Death two words Breathe stronger terrours then Plague Fire or Swords Ere conquer'd This were Epitaph and Verse Worthy to be prefixt in Natures herse Or Earths sad dissolution whose fall Will be less grievous though more generall For all the woe ruine ere buried Sounds in these fatal accents Henry's dead Cease then unable Poetry thy phrase Is weak and dull to strike us with amaze Worthy thy vaster subject Let none dare To coppy this sad hap but with despair Hanging at his quills point For not a stream Of Ink can write much less improve this Theam Invention highest wrought by grief or wit Must sink with him and on his Tomb-stone split Who like the dying Sun tells us the light And glory of our Day set in his Night AN ELEGY Vpon S. W. R. I Will not weep for 't were as great a sin To shed a tear for thee as to have bin An Actor in thy death Thy life and age Was but a various Scene on fortunes Stage With whom thou tugg'st strov'st ev'n out of breath In thy long toil nere master'd till thy death And then despight of trains and cruell wit Thou did'st at once subdue malice and it I dare not then so blast thy memory As say I do lament or pity thee Were I to choose a subject to bestow My pity on he should be one as low In spirit as desert That durst not dy But rather were content by slavery To purchase life or I would pity those Thy most industrious and friendly foes Who when they thought to makethee scandals story Lent thee a swifter flight to Heav'n and glory That thought by cutting off some wither'd dayes Which thou could'st spare them to eclipse thy praise Yet gave it brighter foil made thy ag'd fame Appear more white and fair then foul their shame And did promote an Execution Which but for them Nature and Age had done Such worthless things as these were onely born To live on Pities almes too mean for scorn Thou dy'dst an envious wonder whose high fate The world must still admire scarce imitate AN ELEGY Vpon the L. Bishop of London John King SAd Relick of a blessed Soul whose trust We sealed up in this religious dust O do not thy low Exequies suspect As the cheap arguments of our neglect 'T was a commanded duty that thy grave As little pride as thou thy self should have Therefore thy covering is an humble stone And but a word * Resurgam for thy inscription When those that in the same earth neighbour thee Have each his Chronicle and Pedigree They have their waving pennons and their flagges Of Matches and Alliance formal bragges VVhen thou although from Ancestors thou came Old as the Heptarchy great as thy Name â—leep'st there inshrin'd in thy admired parts â—nd hast no Heraldry but thy deserts Yet let not Them their prouder Marbles boast For They rest with less honour though more cost Go search the world and with your Mattox wounâ— The groaning bosom of the patient ground Digge from the hidden veins of her dark womb All that is rare and precious
for a tomb Yet when much treasure and more time is spent You must grant His the nobler Monument Whose Faith stands ore Him for a Hearse and haâ— The Resurrection for His Epitaph Vpon the death of my ever desired friend Doctor Donne Dean of Pauls TO have liv'd eminent in a degreee Beyond our lofty'st flights that is like thee Or t' have had too much merit is not safe For such excesses find no Epitaph At common graves we have Poetick eyes Can melt themselves in easie Elegies Each quill can drop his tributary verse And pin it with the Hatchments to the Herse But at thine Poem or inscription Rich Soul of wit and language we have none Indeed a silence does that Tomb befit Where is no Herald left to blazon it Widdow'd invention justly doth forbear To come abroad knowing thou art not here Late her great Patron whose prerogative Maintain'd and cloth'd her so as none alive Must now presume to keep her at thy rate Though he the Indies for her dowre estate Or else that awful fire which once did burn In thy clear brain now fall'n into thy Urn. Lives there to fright rude Empericks from thence Which might profane thee by their ignorance Who ever writes of thee and in a style Unworthy such a Theme does but revile Thy precious dust and wake a learned spirit Which may revenge his rapes upon thy merit For all a low-pitcht fancie can devise Will prove at best but hallow'd injuries Thou like the dying Swan didst lately sing Thy mournful Dirge in audience of the King When pale looks and faint accents of thy breath Presented so to life that piece of death That it was fear'd and prophesi'd by all Thou thither cam'st to preach thy Funerall O! hadst thou in an Elegiack knell Rung out unto the world thine own farewell And in thy high victorious numbers beat The solemn measure of thy griev'd retreat Thou might'st the Poets service now have mist As well as then thou didst prevent the Priest And never to the world beholden be So much as for an Epitaph for thee I do not like the office Nor is' t fit Thou who didst lend our age such summes of wit Should'st now reborrow from her Bankrupt Mine That Ore to bury thee which once was thine Rather still leave us in thy debt and know Exalted Soul More glory 't is to ow Unto thy Herse what we can never pay Then with embased coin those Rites defray Commit we then Thee to Thy Self nor blame Our drooping loves which thus to thine own fame Leave Thee Executour since but thy own No pen could do Thee Justice nor Bayes crown Thy vast desert save that we nothing can Depute to be thy ashes Guardian So Jewellers no Art or Metal trust To form the Diamond but the Diamonds dust AN ELEGY Vpon the most victorious King of Sweden Gustavus Adolphus LIke a cold fatal sweat which ushers death My thoughts hang on me my lab'ring breath Stopt up with sighs my fancie big with woes Feels two twinn'd mountains struggle in her throws Of boundless sorrow one t'other of sin For less let no one rate it to begin Where honour ends In Great Gustavus flame That style burnt out and wasted to a name Does barely live with us As when the snuff That fed it failes the Taper turns to snuff With this poor snuff this ayerie shadow we Of Fame and Honour must contented be Since from the vain grasp of our wishes fled Their glorious substance is now He is dead Speak it again and louder louder yet Else whil'st we hear the sound we shall forget What it delivers Let hoarse rumor cry Till she so many ecchoes multiply Those may like num'rous witnesses confute Our unbelieving soules that would dispute And doubt this truth for ever This one way Is left our incredulity to sway To waken our deaf sense and make our ears As open and dilated as our fears That we may feel the blow and feeling grieve At what we would not feign but must believe And in that horrid faith behold the world From her proud height of expectation hurl'd Stooping with him as if she strove to have No lower Center now then Swedens grave O could not all thy purchas'd victories Like to thy Fame thy Flesh immortalize Were not thy vertue nor thy valour charmes To guard thy body from those outward harmes Which could not reach thy soul could not thy spirit Lend somewhat which thy frailty might inherit From thy diviner part that Death nor Hate Nor envy's bullets ere could penetrate Could not thy early Trophies in stern fight Torn from the Dane the Pole the Moscovite Which were thy triumphs seeds as pledges sown That when thy honours harvest was ripe grown With full-summ'd wing thou Falcon-like wouldst fly And cuff the Eagle in the German sky Forcing his iron beak and feathers feel They were not proof ' gainst thy victorious steel Could not all these protect thee or prevaile To fright that Coward Death who oft grew pale To look thee and thy battails in the face Alas they could not Destiny gives place To none nor is it seen that Princes lives Can saved be by their prerogatives No more was thine who clos'd in thy cold lead Dost from thy self a mournful lecture read Of Mans short-dated glory learn you Kings You are like him but penetrable things Though you from Demi-Gods derive your birth You are at best bâ—t honourable earth And howere sisted from that courser bran Which does compound and knead the common man Nothing 's immortal or from earth refin'd About you but your Office and your Mind â—ere then break your false Glasses which present â—ou greater then your Maker ever meant Make truth your Mirrour now since you find all That flatter you confuted by his fall Yet since it was decreed thy lifes bright Sun â—ust be eclips'd ere thy full course was run â—e proud thou didst in thy black Obsequies â—ith greater glory set then others rise â—or in thy death as life thou heldest one â—ost just and regular proportion â—ook how the Circles drawn by Compass meet â—ndivisibly joyned head to feet â—nd by continued points which them unite â—row at once Circular and Infinite 〈◊〉 did thy Fate and honour now contend â—o match thy brave beginning with thy end â—herefore thou hadst instead of Passing bells â—he Drums and Cannons thunder for thy knells â—nd in the Field thou did'st triumphing dy â—osing thy eye-lids with a victory â—hat so by thousands who there lost their breath â—ing-like thou might'st be waited on in death Liv'd Plutarch now and would of Caesar tell He could make none but Thee his parallel Whose tide of glory swelling to the brim Needs borrow no addition from Him When did great Julius in any Clime Atchieve so much and in so small a time Or if he did yet shalt Thou in that land Single for him and unexampled stand When ore the Germans first his Eagle towr'd What saw the
as earnest of my wish When you so far loâ—e any that you dare Venture your whole affection on his care May he for whom you change your Virgin-life Prove good to you and perfect as this Wife Vpon the same Madam who understands you well would swear That you the Life and this your Copie were To A. R. upon the same NOt that I would instruct or tutor you What is a Wifes behest or Husbands due Gi ve I this Widdow-Wife Your early date Of knowledge makes such Precepts slow and late This book is but your glass where you shall see What your self are what other Wives should bee An Epitaph on Niobe turned to Stone THis Pile thou seest built out of Flesh not Stone Contains no shroud within nor mouldring bone This bloodless Trunk is destitute of Tombe Which may the Soul-fled Mansion enwombe This seeming Sepulchre to tell the troth Is neither Tomb nor Body and yet both Vpon a Braid of Hair in a Heart sent by Mrs. E. H. IN this small Character is sent My Loves eternal Monument Whil'st we shall live know this chain'd Heart Is our affections counter-part And if we never meet think I Bequeath'd it as my Legacy SONNET TEll me no more how fair she is I have no minde to hear The story of that distant bliss I never shall come near By sad experience I have found That her perfection is my wound And tell me not how fond I am To tempt a daring Fate From whence no triumph ever came But to repent too late There is some hope ere long I may In silence dote my self away I ask no pity Love from thee Nor will thy justice blame So that thou wilt not envy mee The glory of my flame Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes In that it falls her sacrifice SONNET VVEre thy heart soft as thou art faire Thou wer 't a wonder past compare But forzen Love and fierce disdain By their extremes thy graces stain Cold coyness quenches the still fires Which glow in Lovers warm desires And scorn like the quick Lightnings blaze Darts death against affections gaze O Heavens what prodigy is this When Love in Beauty buried is Or that dead pity thus should be Tomb'd in a living cruelty SONNET GO thou that vainly do'st mine eyes invite To taste the softer comforts of the night And bid'st me cool the feaver of my brain In those sweet balmy dewes which slumber pain Enjoy thine own peace in untroubled sleep Whil'st my sad thoughts eternal vigils keep O could'st thou for a time change breasts with me Thou in that broken Glass shouldst plainly see A heart which wastes in the slow smothring fire Blown by despair and fed by false desire Can onely reap such sleeps as Sea-men have When fierce winds rock them on the foaming wave SONNET To Patience DOwn stormy passions down no more Let your rude waves invade the shore Where blushing reason sits and hides Her from the fury of your tides Fit onely 't is where you bear sway That Fools or Franticks do obey Since judgment if it not resists Will lose it self in your blind mists Fall easie Patience fall like rest Whose soft spells charm a troubled breast And where those Rebels you espy O in your silken cordage tie Their malice up so shall I raise Altars to thank your power and praise The soveraign vertue of your Balm Which cures a Tempest by a Calm Silence A SONNET PEace my hearts blab be ever dumb Sorrowes speak loud without a tongue And my perplexed thoughts forbear To breath your selves in any ear T is scarce a true or manly grief Which gaddes abroad to find relief Was ever stomack that lackt meat Nourisht by what another eat Can I bestow it or will woe Forsake me when I bid it goe Then I le believe a wounded breast May heal by shrift and purchase rest But if imparting it I do Not ease my self but trouble two 'T is better I alone possess My treasure of unhappiness Engrossing that which is my own No longer then it is unknown If silence be a kind of death He kindles grief who gives it breath But let it rak't in embers lye On thine own hearth 't will quickly dye And spight of fate that very wombe Which carries it shall prove its tombe Loves Harvest FOnd Lunatick forbear why do'st thou sue For thy affections pay e're it is due Loves fruits are legal use and therefore may Be onely taken on the marriage day Who for this interest too early call By that exaction lose the Principall Then gather not those immature delights Untill their riper Autumn theâ— invites He that abortive Corn cuts off his ground No Husband but a Ravisher is found So those that reap their love before they wed Do in effect but Cuckold their own Bed The Forlorn Hope HOw long vain Hope do'st thou my joys suspend Say must my expectation know no end Thou wast more kind unto the wandring Greek Who did ten years his Wife and Country seek Ten lazy Winters in my glass are run Yet my thoughts travail seems but new begun â—ooth Quick-sand which the easy World beguiles â—ou shalt not bury me in the false smiles They that in hunting shadowes pleasure take May benefit of thy illusion make Since thou hast banisht me from my content I here pronounce thy finall banishment Farewell thou dream of nothing thou meer voicâ— Get thee to fooles that can feed fat with noise Bid wretches markt for death look for reprieve Or men broke on the wheel perswade to live Henceforth my comfort and best Hope shall be By scorning Hope nere to rely on thee The Retreat PUrsue no more my thoughts that false unkin You may assoon imprison the North-wind Or catch the Lightning as it leaps or reach The leading billow first ran down the breach Or undertake the flying clouds to track In the same path they yesterday did rack Then like a Torch turn'd downward let the saâ— Desire which nourisht it put out your flame Loe thus I doe divorce thee from my brest False to thy vow and traitour to my rest Henceforth thy tears shall be though thou repent Like pardons after execution sent Nor shalt thou ever my loves story read But as some Epitaph of what is dead So may my hope on future blessings dwell As 't is my firm resolve and last farewell SONNET TEll me you stars that our affections move Why made ye me that cruell one to love Why burnes my heart her scorned sacrifice Whose breast is hard as Chrystall cold as Ice God of Desire if all thy Votaries Thou thus repay succession will grow wise No sighs for incense at thy Shrine shall smoke Thy Rites will be despis'd thy Altars broke O! or give her my flame to melt that snow Which yet unthaw'd does on her bosome grow Or make me ice and with her chrystall chaines Binde up all love within my frozen veines SONNET I Prethee turn that face away Whose splendour but
worst acts of my life incinerate He shall in story fill a glorious room Whose ashes and whose sins sleep in one Tomb. If now to my cold hearse thou deign to bring Some melting sighs as thy last offering My peacefull exequies are crown'd Nor shall I ask more honour at my Funerall Thou wilt more richly balm me with thy tears Then all the Nard fragrant Arabia bears And as the Paphian Queen by her griefs show'r Brought up her dead Loves Spirit in a flow'r So by those precious drops rain'd from thine eies Out of my dust O may some vertue rise And like thy better Genius thee attend Till thou in my dark Period shalt end Lastly my constant truth let me commend To him thou choosest next to be thy friend For witness all things good I would not have Thy Youth and Beauty married to my grave 'T would shew thou didst repent the style of wife Should'st thou relapse into a single life They with preposterous grief the world delude Who mourn for their lost Mates in solitude Since Widdowhood more strongly doth enforce The much lamented lot of their divorce Themselves then of their losses guilty are Who may yet will not suffer a repaire Those were Barbarian wives that did invent Weeping to death at th'Husbands Monument But in more civil Rites She doth approve Her first who ventures on a second Love For else it may be thought if She refrain She sped so ill Shee durst not trie again Up them my Love and choose some worthler one Who may supply my room when I am gone So will the stock of our affection thrive No less in death then were I still alive And in my urne I shall rejoyce that I Am both Testatour thus and Legacie The short Wooing LIke an Oblation set before a Shrine Fair One I offer up this heart of mine Whether the Saint accept my Gift or no He neither fear nor doubt before I know For he whose faint distrust prevents reply Doth his own suits denial prophecy Your will the sentence is Who free as Fate Can bid my love proceed or else retreat And from short views that verdict is decreed Which seldom doth one audience exceed Love asks no dull probation but like light Conveyes his nimble influence at first sight I need not therefore importune or press This were t'extort unwilling happiness And much against affection might I sin To tire and weary what I seek to win Towns which by lingring siege enforced be Oft make both sides repent the victorie Be Mistriss of yourself and let me thrive Or suffer by your own prerogative Yet stay since you are Judge who in one breath Bear uncontrolled power of Life and Death Remember Sweet pity doth best become Those lips which must pronounce a Suitors doome If I find that my spark of chast desire Shall kindle into Hymens holy fire Else like sad flowers will these verses prove To stick the Coffin of rejected Love St. Valentines day NOw that each feather'd Chorister doth sing The glad approches of the welcome Spring Now Phoebus darts forth his more early beam And dips it later in the curled stream I should to custome prove a retrograde Did I still dote upon my sullen shade Oft have the seasons finisht and begun Dayes into Months those into years have run Since my cross Starres and inauspicious fate Doom'd me to linger here without my Mate Whose loss ere since befrosting my desire Left me an Altar without Gift or Fire I therefore could have wisht for your own sake That Fortune had design'd a nobler stake For you to draw then one whose fading day Like to a dedicated Taper lay Within a Tomb and long burnt ouâ— in 〈◊〉 Since nothing there saw better by the flame Yet since you like your Chance I must not try To marre it through my incapacity I here make title to it and proclaime How much you honour me to wear my name Who can no form of gratitude devise But offer up my self your sacrifice Hall then my worthy Lot and may each Morn Successive springs of joy to you be born May your content ne're wane untill my heart Grown Bankrupt wants good wishes to impart Henceforth I need not make the dust my Shrine Nor search the Grave for my lost Valentine To his unconstant Friend BUt say thou very woman why to me This fit of weakness and inconstancie What forfeit have I made of word or vow That I am rack't on thy displeasure now If I have done a fault I do not shame To cite it from thy lips give it a name I ask the banes stand forth and tell me why We should not in our wonted loves comply Did thy cloy'd appetite urge thee to trie If any other man could love as I I see friends are like clothes lad up whil'st new But after wearing cast though nere so true Or did thy fierce ambition long to make Some Lover turn a martyr for thy sake Thinking thy beauty had deserv'd no name Unless some one do perish in that flame Upon whose loving dust this sentence lies Here 's one was murther'd by his Mistriss eyes Or was 't because my love to thee was such I could not choose but blab it swear how much I was thy slave and doting let thee know I better could my self then thee forgo Hearken ye men that ere shall love like me He give you counsel gratis if you be Possest of what you like let your fair friend Lodge in your bosom but no secrets send To seek their lodging in a female brest For so much is abated of your rest The Steed that comes to understand his strength Growes wild and casts his manager at length And that tame Lover who unlocks his heart Into his Mistriss teaches her an art To plague himself shews her the secret way How She may tyrannize another day And now my fair unkindness thus to thee Mark how wise Passion and I agree Hear and be sorry for 't I will not die To expiate thy crime of levitie 〈◊〉 walk not cross-arm'd neither ear and live â—ea live to pity thy neglect not grieve That thou art from thy faith and promise gone Nor envy him who by my loss hath won Thou shalt perceive thy changing Moon-like fits Have not infected me or turn'd my wits To Lunacie I do not mean to weep When I should eat or sigh when I should sleep I will not fall upon my pointed quill Bleed ink and Poems or invention spill To contrive Ballads or weave Elegies For Nurses wearing when the infant cries Nor like th'enamour'd Tristrams of the time Despair in prose and hang my self in rhime Nor thither run upon my verses feet Where I shall none but fools or mad-men meet Who mid'st the silent shades and Myrtle walks Pule and do penance for their Mistress faults I 'm none of those poetick male-contents Born to make paper dear with my laments Or wild Orlando that will rail and vex And for thy sake fall out with