57. Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st near Unto me, and saidst unto me, Do not fear. [thou 58. Thou, Lord, my soul's cause handled hast, and Rescu'st my life. 59. O Lord, do thou judge now.

Thou heard'st my wrong. 60. Their vengeance all they 've wrought; [they thought; 61. How they reproach'd, thou 'st heard, and what 62. What their lips utter'd, which against me rose, And what was ever whisper'd by my foes.

63. I am their song, whether they rise or sit. 64. Give them rewards, Lord, for their working fit, 65. Sorrow of heart, thy curse: 66. and with thy might

Follow, and from under Heav'n destroy them quite.

CHAPTER IV.

1. How is the gold become so dim? How is Purest and finest gold thus chang'd to this? The stones, which were stones of the sanctu'ry, Scatter'd in corners of each street do lie.

2. The precious sons of Sion, which should be
Valu'd as purest gold, how do we see
Low-rated now, as earthen pitchers, stand,
Which are the work of a poor potter's hand!

3. Even the sea-calfs draw their breasts, and give
Suck to their young: my people's daughters live,
By reason of the foe's great cruelness,
As do the owls in the vast wilderness.

4. And when the sucking child doth strive to draw,
His tongue for thirst cleaves to the upper jaw:
And when for bread the little children cry,
There is no man that doth them satisfy.

5. They, which before were delicately fed,
Now in the streets forlorn have perished:
And they, which ever were in scarlet cloth'd,
Sit and embrace the dunghills, which they loath'd.

6. The daughters of my people have sinn'd more,
Than did the town of Sodom sin before;
Which being at once destroy'd, there did remain
No hands amongst them to vex them again.

7. But heretofore purer her Nazarite
Was than the snow, and milk was not so white:
As carbuncles, did their pure bodies shine;
And all their polish'dness was saphirine.

8. They're darker now than blackness; none can know

Them by the face, as through the street they go: For now their skin doth cleave unto their boné, And wither'd is like to dry wood grown.

9. Better by sword than famine 't is to die;
And better through-pierc'd than through penury.
10. Women, by nature pitiful, have eat [meat.
Their children (dress'd with their own hand) for

11. Jehovah here fully accomplish'd hath
His indignation, and pour'd forth his wrath;
Kindled a fire in Sion, which hath pow'r
To eat, and her foundations to devour.

12. Nor would the kings of the Earth, nor all, which In the inhabitable world, believe, [live That any adversary, any foe, Into Jerusalem should enter so.

13. For the priests' sins, and prophets', which have Blood in the streets, and the just murthered: [shed 14. Which, when those men, whom they made blind, Thorough the streets, defiled by the way [did stray

With blood, the which impossible it was
Their garment should 'scapetouching, as they pass;
15. Would cry aloud," Depart, defiled men,
Depart, depart, and touch us not ;" and then

They fled, and stray'd, and with the Gentiles were,
Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell

there.

16. For this they 're scatter'd by Jehovah's face, Who never will regard them more; no grace

Unto the old men shall their foe afford;

Nor, that they're priests, redeem them from the sword;

17. And we as yet, for all these miseries
Desiring our vain help, consume our eyes;

And such a nation, as cannot save,
We in desire and speculation have.

18. They hunt our steps, that in the streets we fear To go; our end is now approached near.

Our days accomplish'd are, this the last day;
Eagles of Heav'n are not so swift as they,
19. Which follow us; o'er mountains' tops they fly
At us, and for us in the desert lie.

20. The Lord's anointed, breath of our nostrils, he,
Of whom we said, " Under his shadow we
Shall with more ease under the heathen dwell,”
Into the pit, which these men digged, fell."

21. Rejoice, O Eden's daughter; joyful be,
Thou that inhabit'st Uz; for unto thee
This cup shall pass, and thou with drunkenness
Shalt fill thyself, and show thy nakedness.

22. And then thy sins, O Sion, shall be spent ;
The Lord will not leave thee in banishment:
Thy sins, O Edom's daughter, he will see,
And for them pay thee with captivity.

CHAPTER Y.

1. REMEMBER, O Lord, what is fall'n on us;
See and mark, how we are reproached thus.
2. For unto strangers our possession
Is turn'd, our houses unto aliens gone.

3. Our mothers are become as widows, we
As orphans all, and without fathers be.
4. Waters, which are our own, we drink, and pay;
And upon our own wood a price they lay.

5. Our persecutors on our necks do sit,
They make us travail, and not intermit.
6. We stretch our hands unto th' Egyptians
To get us bread; and to th' Assyrians,

7. Our fathers did these sins, and are no more; But we do bear the sins they did before.

8. They are but servants, which do rule us thus ; Yet from their hands none would deliver us.

9. With danger of our life our bread we gat; For in the wilderness the sword did wait. 10. The tempests of this famine we liv'd in Black as an oven colour'd had our skin.

11. In Juda's cities they the maids abus'd By force, and so women in Sion us'd.

12. The princes with their hands they hung; no grace

Nor honour gave they to the elder's face.

15. Unto the mill our young men carry'd are, And children fell under the wood they bear: 14. Elders the gates, youth did their songs forbear; Gone was our joy; our dancings mournings were.

15. Now is the crown fall'n from our head; and wo Be unto us, because we 've sinned so. 16. For this our hearts do languish, and for this Over our eyes a cloudy dimness is:

17. Because Mount Sion desolate doth lie, And foxes there do go at liberty.

18. But thou, O Lord, art ever; and thy throne From generation to generation.

19. Why should'st thou forget us eternally; Or leave us thus long in this misery?

20. Restore us, Lord, to thee; that so we may Return, and, as of old, renew our day.

21. For oughtest thou, O Lord, despise us thus, 22. And to be utterly enrag'd at us?

HYMN TO GOD,

MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS.

SINCE I am coming to that holy room,
Where with the choir of saints for evermore
I shall be made thy music, as I come,

I tune the instrument here at the door;
And, what I must do then, think here before.

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my south-west discovery
Per fretum febris, by these straits to die.

VOL. V.

210

TO THE MEMORY OF MY EVER DESIRED FRIEND DR. DONNE.

To have liv'd eminent, in a degree

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 poetic eyes,
Can melt themselves in easy elegies;
Each quill can drop its tributary verse,

And pin it, like the hatchments, to the hearse:
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.
Widow'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 dowry 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 empyrics from thence,
Which might profane thee by their ignorance.
Whoever 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-pitch'd fancy 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 prophesy'd by all,
Thou thither cam'st to preach thy funeral.
O! hadst thou in an elegiac 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 poet's service now have miss'd,
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 sums of wit, Should'st not re-borrow from her bankrupt mine That ore to bury thee, which once was thine:

His last sermon at court.

Rather still leave us in thy debt; and know
(Exalted soul) more glory 't is to owe
Unto thy hearse, what we can never pay,
Than with embased coin those rites defray.

Commit me then thee to thyself: nor blame
Our drooping loves, which thus to thy own fame
Leave thee executor: since, but thy own,
No pen could do thee justice, nor base 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 diamond's dust.

IN OBITUM VENERABILIS VIRI

JOHANNIS DONNE,

H. K.

SACRÆ THEOLOGIE DOCTORIS, ECCLESIA CATHEDRALIS D. PAULI NUPER DECANI; ILLI HONORIS, TIBI (MULTUM MIHI COLENde vir) observaNTIÆ ERGO HÆC EGO.

CONQUERAR? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu ? Sed, lacrymæ, clausistis iter; nec muta querelas Lingua potest proferre pias: ignoscite, manes Defuncti, et tacito sinite indulgere dolori.

Sed scelus est tacuisse: cadant in mosta lituræ Verba. Tuis (docta umbra) tuis hæc accipe jussis Cœpta, nec officii contemnens pignora nostri Aversare tuâ non dignum laude poetam.

O si Pythagoræ non vanum dogma fuisset, Inque meum à vestro migraret pectore pectus Musa; repentinos tua nosceret urna furores. Sed frustra, heu! frustra hæc votis puerilibus opto: Tecum abiit, summoque sedens jam monte Thalia Ridet anhelantes, Parnassi et culmina vates Desperare jubet. Verùm hac nolente coactos Scribimus audaces numeros, et flebile carmen Scribimus ( soli qui te dilexit) habendum. Siccine perpetuus liventia lumina somnus Clausit? et immerito merguntur funere virtus Et pietas, et, quæ poterant fecisse beatum. Cætera sed nec te poterant servare beatum. [tis Quo mihi doctrinam? quorsum impallescere charNocturnis juvat, et totidem olfecisse lucernas? Decolor et longos studiis deperdere soles, Ut priùs, aggredior, longamque accessere famam. Omnia sed frustra: mihi dum cunctisque minatur Exitium crudele et inexorabile fatum.

Nam post te sperare nihil decet: hoc mihi restat, Ut moriar, tenues fugiatque obscurus in auras

Spiritus: O doctís saltem si cognitus umbris
Illic te (venerande) iterum (venerande) videbo;
Et dulces audire sonos, et verba diserti
Oris, et æternas dabitur mihi carpere voces:
Queis ferus infernæ tacuisset janitor aulæ
Auditis, Nilusque minùs strepuisset; Arion
Cederet, et, sylvas qui post se traxerat, Orpheus.
Eloquio sic ille viros, sic ille movere

Voceferos potuit; quis enim tam barbarus? aut tam
Facundis nimis infestus, non metus ut illo
Hortante, et blando victus sermone sileret ?

Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat; Singula sic decuêre senem, sic omnia. Vidi, Audivi, et stupui, quoties orator in Æde Paulinâ stetit, et mirâ gravitate levantes Corda oculosque viros tenuit: dum Nestoris ille Fudit verba (omni quanto mage dulcia melle?) Nunc habet attonitos, pandit mysteria plebi Non concessa priùs, nondum intellecta: revolvunt Mirantes, tacitique arrectis auribus astant.

Mutatis mox ille modo formâque loquendi Tristia pertractat: fatumque et flebile mortis Tempus, et in cineres redeunt quòd corpora primos. Tunc gemitum cunctos dare, tunc lugere videres; Forsitan à lachrymis aliquis non temperat, atque Ex oculis largum stillat rorem: ætheris illo Sic pater audito voluit succumbere turbam, Affectusque ciere suos, et ponere notæ Vocis ad arbitrium; divinæ oracula mentis Dum narrat, rostrisque potens dominatur in altis. Quo feror? audaci et forsan pietate nocenti In nimiâ 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, poeta. Et quo nos canimus? cur hæc tibi sacra? Poetæ, Desinite en fati certus sibi voce canorâ Inferias præmisit olor, cum Carolus Albâ (Ultima volventem et cygnæâ voce loquentem) Nuper eum, turba et magnatum audiret in Aulâ. Tunc rex, tunc proceres, clerus, tunc astitit illi Aula frequens. Solâ nunc in tellure recumbit, Vermibus esca, pio malint nisi parcere: quidni Incipiant et amare famem? Metuêre leones Sic olim; sacrosque artus violare prophetæ Bellua non ausa est, quanquam jejuna, sitimque 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 abinde. Vescere, et exhausto satia te sanguine. Jam nos 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 et tibi lingua vale, vale dicere: parce Non festinanti æternùm requiescere turbæ. Ipsa satis properat, quæ nescit parca morari, Nunc urgere colum, trahere atque occare videmus, Quin rursus (venerande) vale, vale: ordine nos te, Quo Deus et quo dura volet natura, sequemur. Depositum interea, lapides, servate fideles. Felices! illâ queis ædis parte locari,

Quá jacet iste, datur. Forsan lapis inde loquetur, Parturietque viro plenus testantia luctus

[est

Verba; et carminibus, quæ Donni suggeret illi
Spiritus, insolitos testari voce calores
Incipiet: (non sic Pyrrhâ jactante calebat.)
Mole sub hac tegitur, quicquid mortale relictum
De tanto mortale viro. Qui præfuit ædi huic,
Formosi pecoris pastor formosior ipse.

I CANNOT blame those men, that knew thee well,
Yet dare not help the world to ring thy knell
In tuneful elegies; there's not language known
Fit for thy mention, but 't was first thy own.
The epitaphs, thou writ'st, have so bereft
Our tongue of wit, there is no fancy left
Enough to weep thee; what henceforth we see
Of art and nature, must result from thee.
There may perchance some busy gathering friend
Which thou bestow'dst on others, to thy hearse;
Steal from thy own works, and that varied lend,,
And so thou shalt live still in thine own verse:
He, that shall venture further, may commit
A pitied errour; show his zeal, not wit.
Fate hath done mankind wrong; virtue may aim
Reward of conscience, never can of fame :
Since her great trumpet 's broke, could only give
Faith to the world, command it to believe.
He then must write, that would define thy parts,
"Here lies the best divinity, all the arts.'

ON DR. DONNE,

BY DR. C. B. OF 0.

EDW. HYDE,

HE, that would write an epitaph for thee,
And do it well, must first begin to be
Such as thou wert; for none can truly know
Thy worth, thy life, but he that hath liv'd so:
He must have wit to spare and to hurl down,
Enough, to keep the gallants of the town.
He must have learning plenty; both the laws,
Civil and common, to judge any cause;
Divinity great store above the rest;
Not of the last edition, but the best.
He must have language, travail, all the arts;
Judgment to use; or else he wants thy parts.
He must have friends the highest, able to do;
Such as Mæcenas, 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.

AN ELEGY

UPON

THE INCOMPARABLE DR. DONNE.

ALL is not well, when such a one as I
Dare peep abroad, and write an elegy;
When smaller stars appear, and give their light,
Phebus is gone to bed: were it not night,

If that philosopher, which did avow
The world to be but motes, were living now,
He would affirm that th' atoms of his mould,
Were they in several bodies blended, would
Produce new worlds of travellers, divines,
Of linguists, poets; sith these several lines
In him concentred were, and flowing thence
Might fill again the world's circumference.
I could believe this too; and yet my faith
Not want a precedent: the phenix hath
(And such was she) a power to animate
Her ashes, and herself pepetuate.
But, busy soul, thou dost not well to pry
Into these secrets; grief and jealousy,
The more they know, the further still advance:
And find no way so safe as ignorance.
Let this suffice thee, that his soul which flew
A pitch, of all admir'd, know but of few,
(Save those of purer mould) is now translated
From Earth to Heaven, and there constellated.
For if each priest of God shine as a star,
His glory 's as his gifts, 'bove others far.

Of knowledge was repos'd, as all lament
(Or should) this general cause of discontent.
And I rejoice I am not so severe,
But (as I write a line) to weep a tear
For his decease; such sad extremities
May make such men as I write elegies.

And wonder not; for when a general loss
Falls on a nation, and they slight the cross,
God hath rais'd prophets to awaken them
From stupefaction; witness my mild pen,
Not us'd t' 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 Thou art not only dull, but hast a curse [worse, Of black ingratitude; if not, could'st 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 poetry, wherein Was all philosophy? was every sin, Character'd in his Satires, made so foul

[soul

That some have fear'd their shapes, and kept their
Safer by reading verse? did be give days
Past marble monuments to those, whose praise
He would perpetuate? Did he (I fear
The dull will doubt) these at his twentieth year?
But, more matur'd, did his full soul conceive,
And in harmonious holy numbers weave
A Crown of sacred Sonnets', fit to adorn
A dying martyr's brow; or to be worn
On that bless'd head of Mary Magdalen,
After she wip'd Christ's feet, but not till ther?
Did he (fit for such penitents as she
And he to use) leave us a Litany,
Which all devout men love? and sure it shall,
As times grow better, grow more classical.
Did he write hymns, for piety, for wit,
Equal to those, great grave Prudentius writ?
Spake he all languages? knew he all laws?
The grounds and use of physic? (but because
'T was mercenary, wav'd it) went to see
The blessed place of Christ's nativity?
Did he return and preach him? preach him so,
As since St. Paul none did, none could? Those know
(Such as were bless'd to hear him) this is truth.
Did he confirm th' aged? convert the youth?
Did he these wonders? And is this dear loss
Mourn'd by so few? (few, for so great a cross.)
But sure the silent are ambitious all
To be close mourners at his funeral:
If not, in common pity they forbear
By repetitions to renew our care;

Or knowing, grief conceiv'd, conceal'd, consumes
Man irreparably, (as poison'd fumes

Do waste the brain) make silence a safe way T'enlarge the soul from those walls, mud and clay, (Materials of this body) to remain

With Donne in Heav'n; where no promiscuous pain
Lessens the joy we have: for with him all
Are satisfy'd with joys essential.

Dwell on this joy, my thoughts; oh! do not call
Grief back, by thinking of his funeral.
Forget he lov'd me; waste not my sad years,
(Which haste to David's seventy) fill'd with fears
And sorrow for his death; forget his parts,
Which find a living grave in good men's hearts.
And (for my first is daily paid for sin)
Forget to pay my second sigh for him:

1 La Corona.