that vertuous man there was And as if man feeds on mans flesh and so Part of his body to another owe Yet at the last two perfect bodies rise Because God knowes where every Atome lyes So if one knowledge were made of all those Who knew his minutes well hee might dispose His vertues into names and ranks but I Should injure Nature Vertue and Destinie Should I divide and discontinue so Vertue which did in one intirenesse grow For as hee that would say spirits are fram'd Of all the purest parts that can be nam'd Honours not spirits halfe so much as hee Which sayes they have no parts but simple bee So is't of vertue for a point and one Are much entirer then a million And had Fate meant to have his vertues told It would have let him live to have beene old So then that vertue in season and then this We might have seene and said that now he is Witty now wise now temperate now just In good short lives vertues are faine to thrust And to be sure betimes to get a place When they would exercise lacke time and space So was it in this person forc'd to bee For lack of time his owne epitome So to exhibit in few yeares as much As all the long breath'd Chronicles can touch As when an Angell down from heav'n doth flye Our quick thought cannot keepe him company Wee cannot thinke now hee is at the Sunne Now through the Moon now he through th' aire doth run Yet when he 's come we know he did repaire To all twixt Heav'n and Earth Sunne Moon and Aire And as this Angell in an instant knowes And yet wee know this sodaine knowledge growes By quick amassing severall formes of things Which he successively to order brings When they whose slow-pac'd lame thoughts cannot goe So fast as hee thinke that he doth not so Just as a perfect reader doth not dwell On every syllable nor stay to spell Yet without doubt hee doth distinctly see And lay together every A and B So in short liv'd good men is'not understood Each severall vertue but the compound good For they all vertues paths in that pace tread As Angells goe and know and as men read O why should then these men these lumps of Balme Sent hither the worlds tempest to becalme Before by deeds they are diffus'd and spred And so make us alive themselves be dead O Soule O circle why so quickly bee Thy ends thy birth and death clos'd up in thee Since one foot of thy compasse still was plac'd In heav'n the other might securely'have pac'd In the most large extent through every path Which the whole world or man the abridgment hath Thou knowst that though the tropique circles have Yea and those small ones which the Poles engrave All the same roundnesse evennesse and all The endlesnesse of the equinoctiall Yet when we come to measure distances How here how there the Sunne affected is When he doth faintly worke and when prevaile Onely great circles then can be our scale So though thy circle to thy selfe expresse All tending to thy endlesse happinesse And wee by our good use of it may trye Both how to live well young and how to die Yet since we must be old and age endures His Torrid Zone at Court and calentures Of hot ambitions irrelegions ice Zeales agues and hydroptique avarice Infirmities which need the scale of truth As well as lust and ignorance of youth Why did'st thou not for these give medicines too And by thy doing tell us what to doe Though as small pocket-clocks whose every wheele Doth each mismotion and distemper feele Whose hands get shaking palsies and whose string His sinewes slackens and whose Soule the spring Expires or languishes whose pulse the flye Either beates not or beates unevenly Whose voice the Bell doth rattle or grow dumbe Or idle ' as men which to their last houres come If these clockes be not wound or be wound still Or be not set or set at every will So youth is easiest to destruction If then wee follow all or follow none Yet as in great clocks which in steeples chime Plac'd to informe whole towns to'imploy their time An error doth more harme being generall When small clocks faults only'on the wearer fall So worke the faults of age on which the eye Of children servants or the State relie Why wouldst not thou then which hadst such a soule A clock so true as might the Sunne controule And daily hadst from him who gave it thee Instructions such as it could never be Disordered stay here as a generall And great Sun-dyall to have set us All O why wouldst thou be any instrument To this unnaturall course or why consent To this not miracle but Prodigie That when the ebbs longer then flowings be Vertue whose flood did with thy youth begin Should so much faster ebb out then flow'in Though her flood was blowne in by thy first breath All is at once sunke in the whirle-poole death Which word I would not name but that I see Death else a desert growne a Court by thee Now I grow sure that if a man would have Good companie his entry is a grave Mee thinkes all Cities now but Anthills bee Where when the severall labourers I see For children house Provision taking paine They' are all but Ants carrying eggs straw and grain And Church-yards are our cities unto which The most repaire that are in goodnesse rich There is the best concourse and confluence There are the holy suburbs and from thence Begins Gods City New Jerusalem Which doth extend her utmost gates to them At that gate then Triumphant soule dost thou Begin thy Triumph But since lawes allow That at the Triumph day the people may All that they will ' gainst the Triumpher say Let me here use that freedome and expresse My griefe though not to make thy Triumph lesse By law to Triumphs none admitted bee Till they as Magistrates get victorie Though then to thy force all youthes foes did yield Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field To which thy ranke in this state destin'd thee That there thy counsailes might get victorie And so in that capacitie remove All jealousies 'twixt Prince and subjects love Thou could'st no title to this triumph have Thou didst intrude on death usurp'st a grave That though victoriously thou hadst fought as yet But with thine owne affections with the heate Of youths desires and colds of ignorance But till thou should'st successefully advance Thine armes'gainst forraine enemies which are Both Envy and acclamation popular For both these engines equally defeate Though by a divers Mine those which are great Till then thy War was but a civill War For which to Triumph none admitted are No more are they who though with good successe â—n a defensive war their power expresse Before men triumph the dominion Must be enlarg'd and not preserv'd alone Why should'st thou then whose battailes were to win Thy selfe from those straits
pay scores Make men speake treason cosen subtlest whores Out-flatter favorites or out lie either Jovius or Surius or both together He names mee and comes to mee I whisper God! How have I sinn'd that thy wraths furious rod This fellow chuseth me He saith Sir I love your judgement Whom doe you prefer For the best linguist And I seelily Said that I thought Calepines Dictionarie Nay but of men most sweet Sir Beza then Some Jesuites and two reverend men Of our two Academies I named There He stopt mee and said Nay your Apostles were Good pretty linguists and so Panirge was Yet a poore gentleman All these may passe By travaile Then as if he would have sold His tongue he praised it and such words told That I was faine to say If you'had liv'd Sir Time enough to have beene Interpreter To Babells brick layers sure the Tower had stood He adds If of court life you knew the good You would leave lonelinesse I said not alone My lonelinesse is but Spartanes fashion To teach by painting drunkards doth not last Now Aretines pictures have made few chast No more can Princes courts though there be few Better pictures of vice teach me vertue He like to a high stretcht lute string squeakt O Sir 'T is sweet to talke of Kings At Westminster Said I The man that keepes the Abbey tombes And for his price doth with who ever comes Of all our Harries and our Edwards talke From King to King and all their kin can walke Your eares shall heare nought but Kings your eyes meet Kings only The way to it is Kingstreet He smack'd and cry'd He 's base Mechanique coarse So are all your Englishmen in their discourse Are not your Frenchmen neate Fine as you see I have but one frenchman looke hee followes mee Certes they are neatly cloth'd I of this minde am Your only wearing is your Grogaram Not so Sir I have more Under this pitch He would not flie I chaff'd him But as Itch Scratch'd into smart and as blunt iron grown'd Into an edge hurts worse So I foole found Crossing hurt mee To fit my sullennesse He to another key his stile doth addresse And askes what newes I tell him of new playes He takes my hand and as a Still which staies A Sembriefe 'twixt each drop he nigardly As loth to enrich mee so tells many a lie More then ten Hollensheads or Halls or Stowes Of triviall houshold trash He knowes He knowes When the Queene frown'd or smil'd and he knowes A subtle States-man may gather of that He knowes who loves whom and who by poyson what Hasts to an Offices reversion He knowes who'hath sold his land and now doth beg A licence old iron bootes shooes and egge shels to transport Shortly boyes shall not play At span-counter or blow-point but shall pay Toll to some Courtier And wiser then all us He knowes what Ladie is not painted Thus He with home-meats tries me I belch spue spit Looke pale and sickly like a Patient Yet He thrusts on more And as if he'undertooke To say Gallo-Belgicus without booke Speakes of all States and deeds that hath been since The Spaniards came to the losse of Amyens Like a bigge wife at sight of loathed meat Readie to travaile So I sigh and sweat To heare this Makeron talke in vaine For yet Either my humour or his owne to fit He like a priviledg'd spie whom nothing can Discredit Libells now ' gainst each great man He names a price for every office paid He saith our warres thrive ill because delai'd That offices are entail'd and that there are Perpetuities of them lasting as farre As the last day And that great officers Doe with the Pirates share and Dunkirkers Who wasts in meat in clothes in horse he notes Who loves Whores who boyes and who goats I more amas'd then Circes prisoners when They felt themselves turne beasts felt my selfe then Becomming Traytor and mee thought I saw One of our Giant Statutes ope his jaw To sucke me in for hearing him I found Therefore I did shew All signes of loathing But since I am in I must pay mine and my forefathers sinne To the last farthing Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I beare this crosse But the ' houre Of mercy now was come He tries to bring Me to pay a fine to scape his torturing And saies Sir can you spare me I said willingly Nay Sir can you spare me a crowne Thankfully I Gave it as Ransome But as fidlers still Though they be paid to be gone yet needs will Thrust one more jigge upon you so did hee With his long complementall thankes vexe me But he is gone thankes to his needy want And the prerogative of my Crowne Scant His thankes were ended when I which did see All the court fill'd with more strange things then hee Ran from thence with such or more hast then one Who feares more actions doth hast from prison At home in wholesome solitarinesse My precious soule began the wretchednesse Of suiters at court to mourne and a trance Like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance It selfe on mee Such men as he saw there I saw at court and worse and more Low feare Becomes the guiltie not the accuser Then Shall I nones slave of high borne or rais'd men Feare frownes And my Mistresse Truth betray thee To huffing braggart puft Nobility No no Thou which since yesterday hast beene Almost about the whole world hast thou seene O Sunne in all thy journey Vanitie Such as swells the bladder of our court I Thinke he which made your waxen garden and Transported it from Italy to stand With us at London flouts our Presence for Just such gay painted things which no sappe nor Tast have in them ours are And naturall Some of the stocks are their fruits bastard all 'T is ten a clock and past All whom the Mues Baloune Tennis Dyet or the stewes Had all the morning held now the second Time made ready that day in flocks are found In the Presence and I God pardon mee As fresh and sweet their Apparrells be as bee The fields they sold to buy them For a King Those hose are cry the flatterers And bring Them next weeke to the Theatre to sell Wants reach all states Me seemes they doe as well At stage as court All are players who e'r lookes For themselves dare not goe o'r Cheapside books Shall finde their wardrops Inventory Now The Ladies come As Pirats which doe know That there came weak ships fraught with Cutchannel The men board them and praise as they thinke well Their beauties they the mens wits Both are bought Why good wits ne'r weare scarlet gownes I thought This cause These men mens wits for speeches buy And women buy all reds which scarlets die He call'd her beauty limetwigs her haire net She feares her drugs ill laid her haire loose set Would not Heraclitus laughto see Macrine From hat to shooe himselfe at doore refine As
Dr 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 That Cabinet his minde where such a stock Of knoweledge 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 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 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 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 Was all Philosophie Was every sinne Character'd in his Satyres made so foule That some have fear'd their shapes kept their soule Freer by reading verse Did he give dayes Past marble monuments to those whose praise 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 A Crowme of sacred sonets fit to adorne 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 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 The grounds and use of Physicke but because 'T was 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 Such as were blest to heare him know 't is 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 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 Do waste the braine make silence a fafe 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 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 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 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 By any but himselfe for which cause I Write no Encomium but an Elegie IZ WA An Elegie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls Dr. Iohn Donne By Mr. 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 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 'T is 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 Oh pardon mee that breake with untun'd verse The reverend silence that attends thy herse Whose awfull solemne murmures were