Moses his death

On the Death of his highly valued, and much beloved Friend, Mr. Edward Bright.

VVHen grief makes Poets, and untimely death Makes room for tears; Sure then a barren heath Can yeeld a Flower or two, to deck a Hearse, The driest fancy can weep out a verse; And leave the Reader to determine why Such ill-scann'd, course-spun, shriveld Poetry Appears in Print; 'tis not because the name, Worth, Learning, Piety, well-bottom'd fame Of our Dear Friend with God, need such Divine To shew him to the world; such foggy Vapours Do rather intercept Bright's beams, alas! I bleed afresh to name him, cannot pass It o're without a sigh — — Now mee thinks I could wink This vain world into nothing; call't a sink Of emptiness; nothing betwixt two dishes, Embroyder'd lyes; womens and childrens wishes.* 1.1 Yet why so passionate? Is it so strange, That friends should shake hands here, that dust should change? That smoak (yet such is man) should disappear? That stars should twinckle in the Hemisphere?

I'le play no more the childe, but curb my passion, I'le dry mine eyes, and henceforth learn this lesson; To dote no more on friends; I see a Rose If held too fast, can prick mee in the close.

R. Perrot.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Herb. Poems.