Poems, by J.D. VVith elegies on the authors death

An Elegie upon D^r 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 'Twas 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) 'tis 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.

Notes

• La Corona.