Part 36

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.