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'Tis true, they quitted him to their poor pow'r;
They humm'd against him, and with face most sour
Call'd him a strong.lin'd man, a macaroon,
And no way fit to speak to clouted shoon.

'* As fine words truly as you would desire;;

"But, verily, but a badedifier."

Thus did these beetles slight in him that good

They could not see, and much less undersiood;'

But we may say, when we compare the stuff

Both wrought, he was a candle, they (he snuff".

"Well, Wisdom's of her children justify'd, ::..:

Let, therefore, these poor fellows stand aside;

Nor, tho' of learning he dcserv'd so highly,

Would I his book should save him; rather slily

I should advise his ckrgy not to pray,

Tho' of the learnedst sort; methinks that they

Of the same trade are judges not so fit;

There's no such emulation as of wit.

Of such the envy might as much perchance

Wrong him, and more, than th' other's ignorance.

It was his fate, I know't, to be envy'd

As much by clerks as laymen magnify'd:

And why? but.'cause he came late in the day,

And yet his penny earn'd, and had as they.

No more of this, lest some should fay that I

Am stray'd to satire, meaning elegy.

No, no; had Donne need to be judg'd or try'di

A jury I would summon on his sidr

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That had no sides nor factions past the touch

Of all exceptions, freed from passion, such

As not to fear nor flatter e'er were bred;

These would I bring, tho' called from the dead: 70

Southampton, Hamilton, Pembroke, Dorset's earls,

Huntington, Bedford's countesses, the pearls

Once of each sex. If these suffice not, I .

Ten decern tales have of standers-by;

All which for Donne would such a verdict give

As can belong to none that now doth live. . . .

But what do I? a diminution 'tis
To speak of him in verse so short of his,
Whereof he was the master; all, indeed, . ,: .
Compar'd with him, pip'don an oaten reed. Bo

O that you had but one, 'mongst all your brothers,
Could write for him as he hath done for others!
Poets I speak to: when I see 't I'll say
My eyesight betters as my years decay.
Mean-time a quarrel I shall ever have ,,.;..
Against these doughty keepers from the grave.
Who use, it seems, their old authority,
When verses men immortal make they cry;
Which had it been a recipe true try'd,
Probatum esset, Donne had never dy'd. . $0

For me, if e'er J had least spark at all
Of that which they poetic fire do call,
Here I confess it fetched from his hearth,
Which is gone out, now he is gone to earth.

VERSES TO THT AUTHOR.

This only a poor fiash, a lightning is
Before my Muse's death, as alter his.
Farewell, fair Soul: and deign receive from me
This type of that devotion I owe thee,
From whom, while living, as by voice and pen
I learned more than from a thousand men.
So by thy death am of one doubt releas'dy;

And now believe tlut miracles are ceus'd.

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He that would write an epitaph for thoe,
And doit well, must first begin to b«
Such as thou wert; for none can truly know -.,.."
Thy worth, thy life, but he that hath liv'd sot :,
lie must ha,ve wit tosp»reand to hurl down, ; , ;,.,",
Enough to keep thegallantsof the Town:
lie must have learning plenty; both the laws,
Civil and Common, to judge any cause; . i

Divinity great siore abose the resr, ,'"

Not of the last edition, but the be»t. To

He must have language, travel, all trie arts; Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts: ., . He must have friesids the highest, able to do, . . i•' Such as Mecacnas, and Augustus too* .. .

He must have such a sickness, such a death,

Or else his vain descriptions come beneath.

Who then shall write an epitaph for thee

He must be dead first; let it alone for me. 18

EPITAPH UPON DR. DONNE,

BY ENDT. PORTER.

This decent urn a sad inscription wears 1

Of Donne's departure from us to the spheres,

And the dumb stone with silence seems to tell

The changes of this life, wherein is well

Exprest a cause to make all joy to cease,

And never let our sorrows more take ease;

For no* it is impossible to find

One fraught with virtues to enrich a mind.

But why should Death, with a promiscuous hand,

At one rude stroke impoverish a land?

Thou strict attorney unto stricter Fate,

Didst thou confiscate his life out of hate

To his rare parts? or didst thou thraw thy-dart

Wiih envious hand at some plebeian heart,

And he with pious virtue stept between

To save that stroke, and so was kill'd unseen

By thee? O! t'was his goodness so to do,: .

Which human kindness never reach'd unte.

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