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'Tis true, they quitted him to their poor pow'r;
'* 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
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
O that you had but one, 'mongst all your brothers,
For me, if e'er J had least spark at all
VERSES TO THT AUTHOR.
This only a poor fiash, a lightning is
And now believe tlut miracles are ceus'd.
He that would write an epitaph for thoe,
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.