III.

I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne My last thred, I shall perish on the shore; But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne 15 Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore; And, having done that, Thou haste done, I feare no more.

[A Hymne _&c._ _1633-69:_ To Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Christo Salvatori. _O'F_, _S96:_ _for the text of the MSS. see next page_]

[2 Which] which _1633_]

[8 my sin] my sins _1639-69_]

[10 two: _1633:_ two, _1635-69_]

_To Christ._

Wilt thou forgive that sinn, where I begunn, W^{ch} is my sinn, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive those sinns through w^{ch} I runn And doe them still, though still I doe deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, 5 for I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sinn, by w^{ch} I'have wonne Others to sinn, & made my sinn their dore? Wilt thou forgive that sinn w^{ch} I did shunne A yeare or twoe, but wallowed in a score? 10 When thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.

I have a sinn of feare y^t when I have spunn My last thred, I shall perish on the shore; Sweare by thy self that at my Death, thy Sunn 15 Shall shine as it shines nowe, & heretofore; And having done that, thou hast done, I have noe more.

[Christ. _A18_, _N_, _TCC_, _TCD:_ Christo Salvatori. _O'F_, _S96:_ _text from TCD_]

[1 begunn, _Ed:_ begunn _TCD_]

[2 were _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ was _O'F_, _S_ before? _Ed:_ before _TCD_]

[4 them _A18_, _N_, _TC:_ runne _O'F_, _S96_]

[5 done, _Ed:_ done _TCD:_ _and so_ 11 _and_ 17]

[14 shore; _Ed:_ shore _TCD_]

[15 thy Sunne _O'F_, _S:_ this Sunn _A18_, _N_, _TC_]

[16 heretofore; _Ed:_ heretofore _TCD_]

* * * * *

ELEGIES UPON THE AUTHOR

TO THE MEMORIE OF MY EVER DESIRED FRIEND

D^r. 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 finde no Epitaph. At common graves we have Poetique eyes 5 Can melt themselves in easie Elegies, Each quill can drop his tributary verse, And pin it, like the Hatchments, to the Hearse: But at Thine, Poeme, or Inscription (Rich soule of wit, and language) we have none. 10 Indeed a silence does that tombe befit, Where is no Herald left to blazon it. Widow'd invention justly doth forbeare To come abroad, knowing Thou art not here, Late her great Patron; Whose Prerogative 15 Maintain'd, and cloth'd her so, as none alive Must now presume, to keepe her at thy rate, Though he the Indies for her dowre estate. Or else that awfull fire, which once did burne In thy cleare Braine, now falne into thy Urne 20 Lives there, to fright rude Empiricks from thence, Which might prophane thee by their Ignorance. Who ever writes of Thee, and in a stile Unworthy such a Theme, does but revile Thy precious Dust, and wake a learned Spirit 25 Which may revenge his Rapes upon thy Merit. For, all a low pitch't phansie can devise, Will prove, at best, but Hallow'd Injuries. Thou, like the dying Swanne, didst lately sing Thy Mournfull Dirge, in audience of the King; 30 When pale lookes, and faint accents of thy breath, Presented so, to life, that peece of death, That it was fear'd, and prophesi'd by all, Thou thither cam'st to preach thy Funerall. O! had'st Thou in an Elegiacke Knell 35 Rung out unto the world thine owne farewell, And in thy High Victorious Numbers beate The solemne measure of thy griev'd Retreat; Thou might'st the Poets service now have mist As well, as then thou did'st prevent the Priest; 40 And never to the world beholding bee So much, as for an Epitaph for thee. I doe not like the office. Nor is't fit Thou, who did'st lend our Age such summes of wit, Should'st now re-borrow from her bankrupt Mine, 45 That Ore to Bury Thee, which once was Thine, Rather still leave us in thy debt; And know (Exalted Soule) more glory 'tis to owe Unto thy Hearse, what we can never pay, Then, with embased Coine those Rites defray. 50 Commit we then Thee to Thy selfe: Nor blame Our drooping loves, which thus to thy owne Fame Leave Thee Executour. Since, but thine owne, No pen could doe Thee Justice, nor Bayes Crowne Thy vast desert; Save that, wee nothing can 55 Depute, to be thy Ashes Guardian. So Jewellers no Art, or Metall trust To forme the Diamond, but the Diamonds dust.

_H. K._

[To the _&c._ _Also in_ Deaths Duell. _1632_, _Walton's_ Lives _1670_, _King's_ Poems. _1657_, _1664_, _1700_]

[14 here] there _1632_]

[31 faint] weak _1632_]

[57 or] nor _1632_]

To the deceased Author,

Upon the _Promiscuous_ printing of his Poems, the _Looser sort_, with the _Religious_.

When thy _Loose_ raptures, _Donne_, shall meet with Those That doe confine Tuning, unto the Duller line, And sing not, but in _Sanctified Prose_; How will they, with sharper eyes, 5 The _Fore-skinne_ of thy phansie circumcise? And feare, thy _wantonnesse_ should now, begin _Example_, that hath ceased to be _Sin_?

And that _Feare_ fannes their _Heat_; whilst knowing eyes Will not admire 10 At this _Strange Fire_, That here is _mingled with thy Sacrifice_: But dare reade even thy _Wanton Story_, As thy _Confession_, not thy _Glory_. And will so envie _Both_ to future times, 15 That they would buy thy _Goodnesse_, with thy _Crimes_.

_Tho: Browne._

_On the death of D^r DONNE._

I Cannot blame those men, that knew thee well, Yet dare not helpe the world, to ring thy knell In tunefull _Elegies_; there's not language knowne Fit for thy mention, but 'twas first thy owne; The _Epitaphs_ thou writst, have so bereft 5 Our tongue of wit, there is not phansie left Enough to weepe thee; what henceforth we see Of Art or Nature, must result from thee. There may perchance some busie gathering friend Steale from thy owne workes, and that, varied, lend, 10 Which thou bestow'st on others, to thy Hearse, And so thou shalt live still in thine owne verse; Hee that shall venture farther, may commit A pitied errour, shew his zeale, not wit. Fate hath done mankinde wrong; vertue may aime 15 Reward of conscience, never can, of fame, Since her great trumpet's broke, could onely give Faith to the world, command it to beleeve; Hee then must write, that would define thy parts: _Here lyes the best Divinitie, All the Arts._ 20

_Edw. Hyde_.

[On the _&c._ _Also in =Deaths Duell.= 1632_]

[4 thy] thine _1632_]

[6 tongue] pens _1632_]

_On Doctor =Donne=,

By D' =C. B.= of =O.=_

Hee that would write an Epitaph for thee, And do it well, must first beginne 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 hurle downe: 5 Enough, to keepe the gallants of the towne. He must have learning plenty; both the Lawes, Civill, and Common, to judge any cause; Divinity great store, above the rest; Not of the last Edition, but the best. 10 Hee must have language, travaile, all the Arts; Judgement to use; or else he wants thy parts. He must have friends the highest, able to do; Such as _Mecœnas_, and _Augustus_ too. He must have such a sicknesse, such a death; 15 Or else his vaine descriptions come beneath; Who then shall write an Epitaph for thee, He must be dead first, let'it alone for mee.

[On _&c._ _Also in Corbet's Poems 1647_]

_An Elegie upon the incomparable D^{r} DONNE._

All is not well when such a one as I Dare peepe abroad, and write an _Elegie_; When smaller _Starres_ appeare, and give their light, _Phœbus_ is gone to bed: Were it not night, And the world witlesse now that DONNE is dead, 5 You sooner should have broke, then seene my head. Dead did I say? Forgive this _Injury_ I doe him, and his worthes _Infinity_, To say he is but dead; I dare averre It better may be term'd a _Massacre_, 10 Then _Sleepe_ or _Death_; See how the _Muses_ mourne Upon their oaten _Reeds_, and from his _Vrne_ Threaten the World with this _Calamity_, They shall have _Ballads_, but no _Poetry_. _Language_ lyes speechlesse; and _Divinity_, 15 Lost such a _Trump_ as even to _Extasie_ Could charme the Soule, and had an _Influence_ To teach best _judgements_, and please dullest _Sense_. The _Court_, the _Church_, the _Vniversitie_, Lost _Chaplaine_, _Deane_, and _Doctor_, All these, Three. 20 It was his _Merit_, that his _Funerall_ Could cause a losse so _great_ and _generall_.

If there be any Spirit can answer give Of such as hence depart, to such as live: Speake, Doth his body there vermiculate, 25 Crumble to dust, and feele the lawes of Fate? Me thinkes, _Corruption_, _Wormes_, what else is foule Should spare the _Temple_ of so faire a _Soule_. I could beleeve they doe; but that I know What inconvenience might hereafter grow: 30 Succeeding ages would _Idolatrize_, And as his _Numbers_, so his _Reliques_ prize.

If that Philosopher, which did avow The world to be but Motes, was living now: He would affirme that th' _Atomes_ of his mould 35 Were they in severall bodies blended, would Produce new worlds of _Travellers_, _Divines_, Of _Linguists_, _Poets_: sith these severall _lines_ In him concentred were, and flowing thence Might fill againe the worlds _Circumference_. 40 I could beleeve this too; and yet my faith Not want a _President_: The _Phœnix_ hath (And such was He) a power to animate Her ashes, and herselfe perpetuate. But, busie Soule, thou dost not well to pry 45 Into these Secrets; _Griefe_, and _Iealousie_, The more they know, the further still advance, And finde no way so safe as _Ignorance_. Let this suffice thee, that his _Soule_ which flew A pitch of all admir'd, known but of few, 50 (Save those of purer mould) is now translated From Earth to Heaven, and there _Constellated_. For, if each _Priest_ of God shine as a _Starre_, His _Glory_ is as his _Gifts_, 'bove others farre.

HEN. VALENTINE.

_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 5 That Cabinet, his minde: where such a stock Of knowledge 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 10 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 15 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 20 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 25 Was all Philosophie? Was every sinne, Character'd in his _Satyres_? made so foule That some have fear'd their shapes, and kept their soule Freer by reading verse? Did he give _dayes_ Past marble monuments, to those, whose praise 30 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 [Sidenote: _La Corona._] A _Crowne of sacred sonets_, fit to adorne 35 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_? 40 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_? 45 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 50 (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 55 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 60 Do waste the braine) make silence a safe 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 65 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 70 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 75 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 80 By any but himselfe; for which cause, I Write no _Encomium_, but an _Elegie_.

IZ. WA.

[An Elegie _&c._ _See note_]

[1-3

Our Donne is dead; England should mourne, may say We had a man where language chose to stay And shew her gracefull power _1635-69_ ]

[35 _Crowne_] Crowme _1633_]

An Elegie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls, D^r. Iohn Donne:

By _M^r. Tho: Carie_.

Can we not force from widdowed Poetry, Now thou art dead (Great DONNE) one Elegie To crowne thy Hearse? Why yet dare we not trust Though with unkneaded dowe-bak't prose thy dust, Such as the uncisor'd Churchman from the flower 5 Of fading Rhetorique, short liv'd as his houre, Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay Upon thy Ashes, on the funerall day? Have we no voice, no tune? Did'st thou dispense Through all our language, both the words and sense? 10 'Tis a sad truth: The Pulpit may her plaine, And sober Christian precepts still retaine, Doctrines it may, and wholesome Uses frame, Grave Homilies, and Lectures, But the flame Of thy brave Soule, that shot such heat and light, 15 As burnt our earth, and made our darknesse bright, Committed holy Rapes upon our Will, Did through the eye the melting heart distill; And the deepe knowledge of darke truths so teach, As sense might judge, what phansie could not reach; 20 Must be desir'd for ever. So the fire, That fills with spirit and heat the Delphique quire, Which kindled first by thy Promethean breath, Glow'd here a while, lies quench't now in thy death; The Muses garden with Pedantique weedes 25 O'rspred, was purg'd by thee; The lazie seeds Of servile imitation throwne away; And fresh invention planted, Thou didst pay The debts of our penurious bankrupt age; Licentious thefts, that make poëtique rage 30 A Mimique fury, when our soules must bee Possest, or with Anacreons Extasie, Or Pindars, not their owne; The subtle cheat Of slie Exchanges, and the jugling feat Of two-edg'd words, or whatsoever wrong 35 By ours was done the Greeke, or Latine tongue, Thou hast redeem'd, and open'd Us a Mine Of rich and pregnant phansie, drawne a line Of masculine expression, which had good Old Orpheus seene, Or all the ancient Brood 40 Our superstitious fooles admire, and hold Their lead more precious, then thy burnish't Gold, Thou hadst beene their Exchequer, and no more They each in others dust, had rak'd for Ore. Thou shalt yield no precedence, but of time, 45 And the blinde fate of language, whose tun'd chime More charmes the outward sense; Yet thou maist claime From so great disadvantage greater fame, Since to the awe of thy imperious wit Our stubborne language bends, made only fit 50 With her tough-thick-rib'd hoopes to gird about Thy Giant phansie, which had prov'd too stout For their soft melting Phrases. As in time They had the start, so did they cull the prime Buds of invention many a hundred yeare, 55 And left the rifled fields, besides the feare To touch their Harvest, yet from those bare lands Of what is purely thine, thy only hands (And that thy smallest worke) have gleaned more Then all those times, and tongues could reape before; 60 But thou art gone, and thy strict lawes will be Too hard for Libertines in Poetrie. They will repeale the goodly exil'd traine Of gods and goddesses, which in thy just raigne Were banish'd nobler Poems, now, with these 65 The silenc'd tales o'th'Metamorphoses Shall stuffe their lines, and swell the windy Page, Till Verse refin'd by thee, in this last Age, Turne ballad rime, Or those old Idolls bee Ador'd againe, with new apostasie; 70 Oh, pardon mee, that breake with untun'd verse The reverend silence that attends thy herse, Whose awfull solemne murmures were to thee More then these faint lines, A loud Elegie, That did proclaime in a dumbe eloquence 75 The death of all the Arts, whose influence Growne feeble, in these panting numbers lies Gasping short winded Accents, and so dies: So doth the swiftly turning wheele not stand In th'instant we withdraw the moving hand, 80 But some small time maintaine a faint weake course By vertue of the first impulsive force: And so whil'st I cast on thy funerall pile Thy crowne of Bayes, Oh, let it crack a while, And spit disdaine, till the devouring flashes 85 Suck all the moysture up, then turne to ashes. I will not draw the envy to engrosse All thy perfections, or weepe all our losse; Those are too numerous for an Elegie, And this too great, to be express'd by mee. 90 Though every pen should share a distinct part, Yet art thou Theme enough to tyre all Art; Let others carve the rest, it shall suffice I on thy Tombe this Epitaph incise.

_Here lies a King, that rul'd as hee thought fit 95 The universall Monarchy of wit; Here lie two Flamens, and both those, the best, Apollo's first, at last, the true Gods Priest_.

[An Elegie _&c._ _Also in Carew's _Poems_ 1640._ _See note_]

_An Elegie on D^r. DONNE: By Sir Lucius Carie._

Poets attend, the Elegie I sing Both of a doubly-named Priest, and King: In stead of Coates, and Pennons, bring your Verse, For you must bee chiefe mourners at his Hearse, A Tombe your Muse must to his Fame supply, 5 No other Monuments can never die; And as he was a two-fold Priest; in youth, Apollo's; afterwards, the voice of Truth, Gods Conduit-pipe for grace, who chose him for His extraordinary Embassador, 10 So let his Liegiers with the Poets joyne, Both having shares, both must in griefe combine: Whil'st Johnson forceth with his Elegie Teares from a griefe-unknowing Scythians eye, (Like Moses at whose stroke the waters gusht 15 From forth the Rock, and like a Torrent rusht.) Let Lawd his funerall Sermon preach, and shew Those vertues, dull eyes were not apt to know, Nor leave that Piercing Theme, till it appeares To be goodfriday, by the Churches Teares; 20 Yet make not griefe too long oppresse our Powers, Least that his funerall Sermon should prove ours. Nor yet forget that heavenly Eloquence, With which he did the bread of life dispense, Preacher and Orator discharg'd both parts 25 With pleasure for our sense, health for our hearts, And the first such (Though a long studied Art Tell us our soule is all in every part,) None was so marble, but whil'st him he heares, His Soule so long dwelt only in his eares. 30 And from thence (with the fiercenesse of a flood Bearing downe vice) victual'd with that blest food Their hearts; His seed in none could faile to grow, Fertile he found them all, or made them so: No Druggist of the Soule bestow'd on all 35 So Catholiquely a curing Cordiall. Nor only in the Pulpit dwelt his store, His words work'd much, but his example more, That preach't on worky dayes, His Poetrie It selfe was oftentimes divinity, 40 Those Anthemes (almost second Psalmes) he writ To make us know the Crosse, and value it, (Although we owe that reverence to that name Wee should not need warmth from an under flame.) Creates a fire in us, so neare extreme 45 That we would die, for, and upon this theme. Next, his so pious Litany, which none can But count Divine, except a Puritan, And that but for the name, nor this, nor those Want any thing of Sermons, but the prose. 50 Experience makes us see, that many a one Owes to his Countrey his Religion; And in another, would as strongly grow, Had but his Nurse and Mother taught him so, Not hee the ballast on his Judgement hung; 55 Nor did his preconceit doe either wrong; He labour'd to exclude what ever sinne By time or carelessenesse had entred in; Winnow'd the chaffe from wheat, but yet was loath A too hot zeale should force him, burne them both; 60 Nor would allow of that so ignorant gall, Which to save blotting often would blot all; Nor did those barbarous opinions owne, To thinke the Organs sinne, and faction, none; Nor was there expectation to gaine grace 65 From forth his Sermons only, but his face; So Primitive a looke, such gravitie With humblenesse, and both with Pietie; So milde was Moses countenance, when he prai'd For them whose Satanisme his power gainsaid; 70 And such his gravitie, when all Gods band Receiv'd his word (through him) at second hand, Which joyn'd, did flames of more devotion move Then ever Argive Hellens could of love. Now to conclude, I must my reason bring, 75 Wherefore I call'd him in his title King, That Kingdome the Philosophers beleev'd To excell Alexanders, nor were griev'd By feare of losse (that being such a Prey No stronger then ones selfe can force away) 80 The Kingdome of ones selfe, this he enjoy'd, And his authoritie so well employ'd, That never any could before become So Great a Monarch, in so small a roome; He conquer'd rebell passions, rul'd them so, 85 As under-spheares by the first Mover goe, Banish't so farre their working, that we can But know he had some, for we knew him man. Then let his last excuse his first extremes, His age saw visions, though his youth dream'd dreams. 90

[72 Receiv'd] Receiv' _1633_]

_On D^{r}._ DONNES _death_:

_By M^{r}._ Mayne _of Christ-Church in Oxford._

Who shall presume to mourn thee, _Donne_, unlesse He could his teares in thy expressions dresse, And teach his griefe that reverence of thy Hearse, To weepe lines, learned, as thy Anniverse, A Poëme of that worth, whose every teare 5 Deserves the title of a severall yeare. Indeed so farre above its Reader, good, That wee are thought wits, when 'tis understood, There that blest maid to die, who now should grieve? After thy sorrow, 'twere her losse to live; 10 And her faire vertues in anothers line, Would faintly dawn, which are made Saints in thine. Hadst thou beene shallower, and not writ so high, Or left some new way for our pennes, or eye, To shed a funerall teare, perchance thy Tombe 15 Had not beene speechlesse, or our Muses dumbe; But now wee dare not write, but must conceale Thy Epitaph, lest we be thought to steale, For, who hath read thee, and discernes thy worth, That will not say, thy carelesse houres brought forth 20 Fancies beyond our studies, and thy play Was happier, then our serious time of day? So learned was thy chance; thy haste had wit, And matter from thy pen flow'd rashly fit, What was thy recreation turnes our braine, 25 Our rack and palenesse, is thy weakest straine. And when we most come neere thee, 'tis our blisse To imitate thee, where thou dost amisse. Here light your muse, you that do onely thinke, And write, and are just Poëts, as you drinke, 30 In whose weake fancies wit doth ebbe and flow, Just as your recknings rise, that wee may know In your whole carriage of your worke, that here This flash you wrote in Wine, and this in Beere, This is to tap your Muse, which running long 35 Writes flat, and takes our eare not halfe so strong; Poore Suburbe wits, who, if you want your cup, Or if a Lord recover, are blowne up. Could you but reach this height, you should not need To make, each meale, a project ere you feed, 40 Nor walke in reliques, clothes so old and bare, As if left off to you from _Ennius_ were, Nor should your love, in verse, call Mistresse, those, Who are mine hostesse, or your whores in prose; From this Muse learne to Court, whose power could move 45 A Cloystred coldnesse, or a Vestall love, And would convey such errands to their eare, That Ladies knew no oddes to grant and heare; But I do wrong thee, _Donne_, and this low praise Is written onely for thy yonger dayes. 50 I am not growne up, for thy riper parts, Then should I praise thee, through the Tongues, and Arts, And have that deepe Divinity, to know, What mysteries did from thy preaching flow, Who with thy words could charme thy audience, 55 That at thy sermons, eare was all our sense; Yet have I seene thee in the pulpit stand, Where wee might take notes, from thy looke, and hand; And from thy speaking action beare away More Sermon, then some teachers use to say. 60 Such was thy carriage, and thy gesture such, As could divide the heart, and conscience touch. Thy motion did confute, and wee might see An errour vanquish'd by delivery. Not like our Sonnes of Zeale, who to reforme 65 Their hearers, fiercely at the Pulpit storme, And beate the cushion into worse estate, Then if they did conclude it reprobate, Who can out pray the glasse, then lay about Till all Predestination be runne out. 70 And from the point such tedious uses draw, Their repetitions would make Gospell, Law. No, In such temper would thy Sermons flow, So well did Doctrine, and thy language show, And had that holy feare, as, hearing thee, 75 The Court would mend, and a good Christian bee. And Ladies though unhansome, out of grace, Would heare thee, in their unbought lookes, and face. More I could write, but let this crowne thine Urne, Wee cannot hope the like, till thou returne. 80

_Upon M^r J. Donne, and his Poems._

Who dares say thou art dead, when he doth see (Unburied yet) this living part of thee? This part that to thy beeing gives fresh flame, And though th'art _Donne_, yet will preserve thy name. Thy flesh (whose channels left their crimsen hew, 5 And whey-like ranne at last in a pale blew) May shew thee mortall, a dead palsie may Seise on't, and quickly turne it into clay; Which like the Indian earth, shall rise refin'd: But this great Spirit thou hast left behinde, 10 This Soule of Verse (in it's first pure estate) Shall live, for all the World to imitate, But not come neer, for in thy Fancies flight Thou dost not stoope unto the vulgar fight, But, hovering highly in the aire of Wit, 15 Hold'st such a pitch, that few can follow it; Admire they may. Each object that the Spring (Or a more piercing influence) doth bring T'adorne Earths face, thou sweetly did'st contrive To beauties elements, and thence derive 20 Unspotted Lillies white; which thou did'st set Hand in hand, with the veine-like Violet, Making them soft, and warme, and by thy power, Could'st give both life, and sense, unto a flower. The Cheries thou hast made to speake, will bee 25 Sweeter unto the taste, then from the tree. And (spight of winter stormes) amidst the snow Thou oft hast made the blushing Rose to grow. The Sea-nimphs, that the watry cavernes keepe, Have sent their Pearles and Rubies from the deepe 30 To deck thy love, and plac'd by thee, they drew More lustre to them, then where first they grew. All minerals (that Earths full wombe doth hold Promiscuously) thou couldst convert to gold, And with thy flaming raptures so refine, 35 That it was much more pure then in the Mine. The lights that guild the night, if thou did'st say, They looke like eyes, those did out-shine the day; For there would be more vertue in such spells, Then in Meridians, or crosse Parallels: 40 What ever was of worth in this great Frame, That Art could comprehend, or Wit could name, It was thy theme for Beauty; thou didst see, Woman, was this faire Worlds Epitomie. Thy nimble _Satyres_ too, and every straine 45 (With nervy strength) that issued from thy brain, Will lose the glory of their owne cleare bayes, If they admit of any others praise. But thy diviner Poëms (whose cleare fire Purges all drosse away) shall by a Quire 50 Of Cherubims, with heavenly Notes be set (Where flesh and blood could ne'r attaine to yet) There purest Spirits sing such sacred Layes, In Panegyrique Alleluiaes.

_Arth. Wilson._

_In memory of Doctor Donne: By M^{r} R. B._

_Donne_ dead? 'Tis here reported true, though I Ne'r yet so much desir'd to heare a lye, 'Tis too too true, for so wee finde it still, Good newes are often false, but seldome, ill: But must poore fame tell us his fatall day, 5 And shall we know his death, the common way, Mee thinkes some Comet bright should have foretold The death of such a man, for though of old 'Tis held, that Comets Princes death foretell, Why should not his, have needed one as well? 10 Who was the Prince of wits, 'mongst whom he reign'd, High as a Prince, and as great State maintain'd? Yet wants he not his signe, for wee have seene A dearth, the like to which hath never beene, Treading on harvests heeles, which doth presage 15 The death of wit and learning, which this age Shall finde, now he is gone; for though there bee Much graine in shew, none brought it forth as he, Or men are misers; or if true want raises The dearth, then more that dearth _Donnes_ plenty praises. 20 Of learning, languages, of eloquence, And Poësie, (past rauishing of sense,) He had a magazine, wherein such store Was laid up, as might hundreds serve of poore. But he is gone, O how will his desire 25 Torture all those that warm'd them by his fire? Mee thinkes I see him in the pulpit standing, Not eares, or eyes, but all mens hearts commanding, Where wee that heard him, to our selves did faine Golden Chrysostome was alive againe; 30 And never were we weari'd, till we saw His houre (and but an houre) to end did draw. How did he shame the doctrine-men, and use, With helps to boot, for men to beare th'abuse Of their tir'd patience, and endure th'expence 35 Of time, O spent in hearkning to non-sense, With markes also, enough whereby to know, The speaker is a zealous dunce, or so. 'Tis true, they quitted him, to their poore power, They humm'd against him; And with face most sowre 40 Call'd him a strong lin'd man, a Macaroon, And no way fit to speake to clouted shoone, As fine words [truly] as you would desire, But [verily,] but a bad edifier. Thus did these beetles slight in him that good, 45 They could not see, and much lesse understood. But we may say, when we compare the stuffe Both brought; He was a candle, they the snuffe. Well, Wisedome's of her children justifi'd, Let therefore these poore fellowes stand aside; 50 Nor, though of learning he deserv'd so highly, Would I his booke should save him; Rather slily I should advise his Clergie not to pray, Though of the learn'dst sort; Me thinkes that they Of the same trade, are Judges not so fit, 55 There's no such emulation as of wit. Of such, the Envy might as much perchance Wrong him, and more, then th'others ignorance. It was his Fate (I know't) to be envy'd As much by Clerkes, as lay men magnifi'd; 60 And why? but 'cause he came late in the day, And yet his Penny earn'd, and had as they. No more of this, least some should say, that I Am strai'd to Satyre, meaning Elegie. No, no, had DONNE need to be judg'd or try'd, 65 A Jury I would summon on his side, That had no sides, nor factions, past the touch Of all exceptions, freed from Passion, such As nor to feare nor flatter, e'r were bred, These would I bring, though called from the dead: 70 Southampton, Hambleton, Pembrooke, Dorsets Earles, Huntingdon, Bedfords Countesses (the Pearles Once of each sexe.) If these suffice not, I Ten _decem tales_ have of Standers by: All which, for DONNE, would such a verdict give, 75 As can belong to none, that now doth live. But what doe I? A diminution 'tis To speake of him in verse, so short of his, Whereof he was the master; All indeed Compar'd with him, pip'd on an Oaten reed. 80 O that you had but one 'mongst all your brothers Could write for him, as he hath done for others: (Poets I speake to) When I see't, I'll say, My eye-sight betters, as my yeares decay, Meane time a quarrell I shall ever have 85 Against these doughty keepers from the grave, Who use, it seemes their old Authoritie, When (Verses men immortall make) they cry: Which had it been a Recipe true tri'd, _Probatum esset_, DONNE had never dy'd. 90 For mee, if e'r I had least sparke at all Of that which they Poetique fire doe call, Here I confesse it fetched from his hearth, Which is gone out, now he is gone to earth. This only a poore flash, a lightning is 95 Before my Muses death, as after his. Farewell (faire soule) and deigne receive from mee This Type of that devotion I owe thee, From whom (while living) as by voice and penne I learned more, then from a thousand men: 100 So by thy death, am of one doubt releas'd, And now beleeve that miracles are ceas'd.

_Epitaph._

_Heere lies Deane Donne_; Enough; Those words alone Shew him as fully, as if all the stone His Church of Pauls contains, were through inscrib'd Or all the walkers there, to speake him, brib'd. None can mistake him, for one such as Hee 5 DONNE, Deane, or Man, more none shall ever see. Not man? No, though unto a Sunne each eye Were turn'd, the whole earth so to overspie. A bold brave word; Yet such brave Spirits as knew His Spirit, will say, it is lesse bold then true. 10

_Epitaph upon D^r. Donne_,

By _Endy: Porter_.

This decent Urne a sad inscription weares, Of _Donnes_ departure from us, to the spheares; And the dumbe stone with silence seemes to tell The changes of this life, wherein is well Exprest, A cause to make all joy to cease, 5 And never let our sorrowes more take ease; For now it is impossible to finde One fraught with vertues, to inrich a minde; But why should death, with a promiscuous hand At one rude stroke impoverish a land? 10 Thou strict Attorney, unto stricter Fate, Didst thou confiscate his life out of hate To his rare Parts? Or didst thou throw thy dart, With envious hand, at some Plebeyan heart; And he with pious vertue stept betweene 15 To save that stroke, and so was kill'd unseene By thee? O 'twas his goodnesse so to doe, Which humane kindnesse never reacht unto. Thus the hard lawes of death were satisfi'd, And he left us like Orphan friends, and di'de. 20 Now from the Pulpit to the peoples eares, Whose speech shall send repentant sighes, and teares? Or tell mee, if a purer Virgin die, Who shall hereafter write her Elegie? Poets be silent, let your numbers sleepe, 25 For he is gone that did all phansie keepe; Time hath no Soule, but his exalted verse; Which with amazements, we may now reherse.

In obitum venerabilis viri _Iohannis Donne_, sacræ Theologiæ Doctoris, Ecclesiæ Cathedralis Divi _Pauli_, nuper Decani; Illi honoris, tibi (multum mihi colende Vir) observantiæ ergo Hæc ego.

_Conquerar? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu? Sed lachrimæ clausistis iter: nec muta querelas Lingua potest proferre pias: ignoscite manes Defuncti, & tacito finite indulgere dolori. Sed scelus est tacuisse: cadant in mœsta lituræ 5 Verba. Tuis (docta umbra) tuis hæc accipe jussis Cæpta, nec officii contemnens pignora nostri Aversare tuâ non dignum laude Poëtam. O si Pythagoræ non vanum dogma fuisset: Inque meum â vestro migraret pectore pectus 10 Musa, repentinos tua nosceret urna furores. Sed frustra, heu frustra hæc votis puerilibus opto: Tecum abiit, summoque sedens jam monte Thalia Ridet anhelantes, Parnassi & culmina vates Desperare jubet. Verum hâc nolente coactos 15 Scribimus audaces numeros, & flebile carmen Scribimus (ô soli qui te dilexit) habendum. Siccine perpetuus liventia lumina somnus Clausit? & immerito merguntur funere virtus? Et pietas? & quæ poterant fecisse beatum, 20 Cætera, sed nec te poterant servare beatum. Quo mihi doctrinam? quorsum impallescere chartis Nocturnis juvat? & totidem olfecisse lucernas? Decolor & longos studiis deperdere Soles Vt prius aggredior, longamque arcessere famam. 25 Omnia sed frustra: mihi dum cunctisque minatur Exitium crudele & inexorabile fatum. Nam post te sperare nihil decet: hoc mihi restat Vt moriar, tenues fugiatque obscurus in auras Spiritus: ô doctis saltem si cognitus umbris. 30 Illic te (venerande) iterum, (venerande) videbo. Et dulces audire sonós, & verba diserti Oris, & æternas dabitur mihi carpere voces. Quêis ferus infernæ tacuisset Ianitor aulæ Auditis: Nilusque minus strepuisset: Arion 35 Cederet, & sylvas qui post se traxerat Orpheus. Eloquio sic ille viros, sic ille movere Voce feros potuit: quis enim tam barbarus? aut tam Facundis nimis infestus non motus ut illo Hortante, & blando victus sermone sileret? 40 Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat, Singula sic decuere senem, sic omnia. Vidi, Audivi & stupui quoties orator in Æde Paulina stetit, & mira gravitate levantes Corda, oculosque viros tenuit: dum Nestoris ille 45 Fudit verba (omni quanta mage dulcia melle?) Nunc habet attonitos, pandit mysteria plebi Non concessa prius nondum intellecta: revolvunt Mirantes, tacitique arrectis auribus astant. Mutatis mox ille modo, formaque loquendi 50 Tristia pertractat: fatumque & flebile mortis Tempus, & in cineres redeunt quod corpora primos. Tunc gemitum cunctos dare, tunc lugere videres, Forsitan à lachrymis aliquis non temperat, atque Ex oculis largum stillat rorem; ætheris illo 55 Sic pater audito voluit succumbere turbam, Affectusque ciere suos, & ponere notæ Vocis ad arbitrium, divinæ oracula mentis Dum narrat, rostrisque potens dominatur in altis. Quo feror? audaci & forsan pietate nocenti 60 In nimia 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 Poëta. Et quo nos canimus? cur hæc tibi sacra? Poëtæ 65 Desinite: en fati certus, sibi voce canorâ Inferias præmisit olor, cum Carolus Albâ (Vltima volventem et Cycnæâ voce loquentem) Nuper eum, turba & magnatum audiret in Aulâ. Tunc Rex, tunc Proceres, Clerus, tunc astitit illi 70 Aula frequens. Solâ nunc in tellure recumbit, Vermibus esca, pio malint nisi parcere: quidni Incipiant & amare famem? Metuere Leones Sic olim, sacrosque artus violare Prophetæ Bellua non ausa est qùamquam jejuna, sitimque 75 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 ab inde: Vescere, & exhausto satia te sanguine. Iam nos 80 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 & tibi lingua vale, vale dicere: parce Non festinanti æternum requiescere turbæ. 85 Ipsa satis properat quæ nescit Parca morari, Nunc urgere colum, trahere atque occare videmus. Quin rursus (Venerande) Vale, vale: ordine nos te Quo Deus, & quo dura volet natura sequemur. Depositum interea lapides servate fideles. 90 Fœlices illâ quêis Ædis parte locari Quâ jacet iste datur. Forsan lapis inde loquetur, Parturietque viro plenus testantia luctus Verba: & carminibus quæ Donni suggeret illi Spiritus, insolitos testari voce calores 95 Incipiet: (non sic Pyrrhâ jactante calebat.) Mole sub hâc tegitur quicquid mortale relictum est De tanto mortale viro. Qui præfuit Ædi huic, Formosi pecoris pastor, formosior ipse. Ite igitur, dignisque illum celebrate loquelis, 100 Et quæ demuntur vitæ date tempora famæ._

Indignus tantorum meritorum Præco, virtutum tuarum cultor religiosissimus,

DANIEL DARNELLY.

[In obitum _&c._ _1635-69_, _taking the place of the lines by Tho: Browne_.]

[10 pectore] pectore, _1635_]

[21 beatum.] beatum _1635_]

[23 olfecisse] olfecissë _1635_]

[25 prius aggredior, _1635-69_: prius, aggredior, _1719_ arcessere _Ed_: accessere _1635-69_]

[26-7 mihi dum ... Exitium _1719_: mihi, dum ... Exitium, _1635-39_: mihi dum, ... Exitium, _1650-69_]

[38 Voce feros] Voceferos _1635_, _1669_]

[79 inde:] inde _1635-39_]

[86 Parca] parca _1635-69_

morari,] morari _1635_]

[88 rursus _1719_: rusus _1635_: nusus _1639-69_]

[96 Incipiet: ... calebat. _1719_: _no stops_, _1635-69_]

_Elegie on D. D._

Now, by one yeare, time and our frailtie have Lessened our first confusion, since the Grave Clos'd thy deare Ashes, and the teares which flow In these, have no springs, but of solid woe: Or they are drops, which cold amazement froze 5 At thy decease, and will not thaw in Prose: All streames of Verse which shall lament that day, Doe truly to the Ocean tribute pay; But they have lost their saltnesse, which the eye In recompence of wit, strives to supply: 10 Passions excesse for thee wee need not feare, Since first by thee our passions hallowed were; Thou mad'st our sorrowes, which before had bin Onely for the Successe, sorrowes for sinne, We owe thee all those teares, now thou art dead, 15 Which we shed not, which for our selves we shed. Nor didst thou onely consecrate our teares, Give a religious tincture to our feares; But even our joyes had learn'd an innocence, Thou didst from gladnesse separate offence: 20 All mindes at once suckt grace from thee, as where (The curse revok'd) the Nations had one eare. Pious dissector: thy one houre did treate The thousand mazes of the hearts deceipt; Thou didst pursue our lov'd and subtill sinne, 25 Through all the foldings wee had wrapt it in, And in thine owne large minde finding the way By which our selves we from our selves convey, Didst in us, narrow models, know the same Angles, though darker, in our meaner frame. 30 How short of praise is this? My Muse, alas, Climbes weakly to that truth which none can passe, Hee that writes best, may onely hope to leave A Character of all he could conceive But none of thee, and with mee must confesse, 35 That fansie findes some checke, from an excesse Of merit most, of nothing, it hath spun, And truth, as reasons task and theame, doth shunne. She makes a fairer flight in emptinesse, Than when a bodied truth doth her oppresse. 40 Reason againe denies her scales, because Hers are but scales, shee judges by the lawes Of weake comparison, thy vertue sleights Her feeble Beame, and her unequall Weights. What prodigie of wit and pietie 45 Hath she else knowne, by which to measure thee? Great soule: we can no more the worthinesse Of what you were, then what you are, expresse.

_Sidney Godolphin._

[Footnote: Elegie on D. D. _1635-69_: _it follows Walton's elegy._]

_On D^{r}_ John Donne, _late Deane of S._ Paules, _London_.

Long since this taske of teares from you was due, Long since, ô Poëts, he did die to you, Or left you dead, when wit and he tooke flight On divine wings, and soard out of your sight. Preachers, 'tis you must weep; The wit he taught 5 You doe enjoy; the Rebels which he brought From ancient discord, Giants faculties, And now no more religions enemies; Honest to knowing, unto vertuous sweet, Witty to good, and learned to discreet, 10 He reconcil'd, and bid the Vsurper goe; Dulnesse to vice, religion ought to flow; He kept his loves, but not his objects; wit Hee did not banish, but transplanted it, Taught it his place and use, and brought it home 15 To Pietie, which it doth best become; He shew'd us how for sinnes we ought to sigh, And how to sing Christs Epithalamy: The Altars had his fires, and there hee spoke Incense of loves, and fansies holy smoake: 20 Religion thus enrich'd, the people train'd, And God from dull vice had the fashion gain'd. The first effects sprung in the giddy minde Of flashy youth, and thirst of woman-kinde, By colours lead, and drawne to a pursuit, 25 Now once againe by beautie of the fruit, As if their longings too must set us free, And tempt us now to the commanded tree. Tell me, had ever pleasure such a dresse, Have you knowne crimes so shap'd? or lovelinesse 30 Such as his lips did cloth religion in? Had not reproofe a beauty passing sinne? Corrupted nature sorrow'd when she stood So neare the danger of becomming good, And wish'd our so inconstant eares exempt 35 From piety that had such power to tempt: Did not his sacred flattery beguile Man to amendment? The law, taught to smile, Pension'd our vanitie, and man grew well Through the same frailtie by which he fell. 40 O the sick state of man, health does not please Our tasts, but in the shape of the disease. Thriftlesse is charitie, coward patience, Iustice is cruell, mercy want of sense. What meanes our Nature to barre vertue place, 45 If shee doe come in her owne cloathes and face? Is good a pill, we dare not chaw to know? Sense the soules servant, doth it keep us so As we might starve for good, unlesse it first Doe leave a pawne of relish in the gust? 50 Or have we to salvation no tie At all, but that of our infirmitie? Who treats with us must our affections move To th' good we flie by those sweets which we love, Must seeke our palats, and with their delight 55 To gaine our deeds, must bribe our appetite. These traines he knew, and laying nets to save, Temptingly sugred all the health hee gave. But, where is now that chime? that harmony Hath left the world, now the loud organ may 60 Appeare, the better voyce is fled to have A thousand times the sweetnesse which it gave. I cannot say how many thousand spirits The single happinesse this soule inherits, Damnes in the other world, soules whom no crosse 65 O'th sense afflicts, but onely of the losse, Whom ignorance would halfe save, all whose paine Is not in what they feele, but others gaine, Selfe executing wretched spirits, who Carrying their guilt, transport their envy too: 70 But those high joyes which his wits youngest flame Would hurt to chuse, shall not we hurt to name? Verse statues are all robbers, all we make Of monument, thus doth not give but take As Sailes which Seamen to a forewinde fit, 75 By a resistance, goe along with it, So pens grow while they lessen fame so left; A weake assistance is a kinde of theft. Who hath not love to ground his teares upon, Must weep here if he have ambition.

_I. Chudleigh._

[On D^{r} John Donne _&c._ _1635-69_, _where it follows Godolphin's_ Elegie]

FINIS.

APPENDIX A.

LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS

DE LIBRO CVM MVTV- aretur Impresso; Domi à pueris frustatim lacerato; et post reddito Manuscripto.

Doctissimo Amicissimoque v. D. D. Andrews.

_Parturiunt madido quae nixu praela, recepta, Sed quae scripta manu, sunt veneranda magis. Qui liber in pluteos, blattis cinerique relictos, Si modo sit praeli sanguine tinctus, abit; Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur, 5 Involat et veterum scrinia summa Patrum. Dicat Apollo modum; Pueros infundere libro Nempe vetustatem canitiemque novo. Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos, Haec nova fata libra posse dedisse novo. 10 Si veterem faciunt pueri, qui nuperus, Annon Ipse Pater Iuvenem me dabit arte senem? Hei miseris senibus! nos vertit dura senectus Omnes in pueros, neminem at in Iuvenem. Hoc tibi servasti praestandum, Antique Dierum, 15 Quo viso, et vivit, et juvenescit Adam. Interea, infirmae fallamus taedia vitae, Libris, et Coelorum aemulâ amicitiâ. Hos inter, qui a te mihi redditus iste libellus, Non mihi tam charus, tam meus, ante fuit._ 20

<Epigramma>

_Transiit in Sequanam Moenus; Victoris in aedes; Et Francofurtum, te revehente, meat._

[DE LIBRO &c. _1635-69_ _among certain prose letters in Latin and English_

_Title_:--mutuaretur Impresso;] mutuaretur, Impresso, _1635-69_

frustatim] frustratim _1635-69_

lacerato;] lacerato, _1635-69_]

[2 _manu, sunt_] _manu sunt, 1635-69_]

[4 _abit;_] _abit, 1635-69_]

[<Epigramma> _Ed_: _in old edd. these lines are 3 and 4 of above poem_. _See note_]

[1 _aedes_;] _aedes, 1635-69_]

Amicissimo, & meritissimo BEN. JONSON.

In Vulponem.

_Qvod arte ausus es hic tuâ, Poeta, Si auderent hominum Deique juris Consulti, veteres sequi aemularierque, O omnes saperemus ad salutem. His sed sunt veteres araneosi; 5 Tam nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu Illos quod sequeris novator audis. Fac tamen quod agis; tuique primâ Libri canitie induantur horâ: Nam chartis pueritia est neganda, 10 Nascanturque senes, oportet, illi Libri, queis dare vis perennitatem. Priscis, ingenium facit, laborque Te parem; hos superes, ut et futuros, Ex nostrâ vitiositate sumas, 15 Quâ priscos superamus, et futuros._

[Amicissimo _&c._ _in sheets added 1650: prefixed originally to Quarto edition of Jonson's Volpone. 1607, later to Folio edition of The Workes of Beniamin Jonson. 1616., when In Vulponem was added: in both signed I.D._]

[11 Nascanturque _1607_: Nascunturque _1616_, _1650-69_]

To M^r _George Herbert_, with one of my Seal(s), of the Anchor and Christ.

_Qvi prius assuetus Serpentum fasce Tabellas Signare, (haec nostrae symbola parva Domus) Adscitus domui Domini, patrioque relicto Stemmate, nanciscor stemmata jure nova. Hinc mihi Crux primo quae fronti impressa lavacro, 5 Finibus extensis, anchora facta patet. Anchorae in effigiem Crux tandem desinit ipsam, Anchora fit tandem Crux tolerata diu. Hoc tamen ut fiat, Christo vegetatur ab ipso Crux, et ab Affixo, est Anchora facta, Iesu. 10 Nec Natalitiis penitus serpentibus orbor, Non ita dat Deus, ut auferat ante data. Quâ sapiens, Dos est; Quâ terram lambit et ambit, Pestis; At in nostra fit Medicina Cruce, Serpens; fixa Cruci si sit Natura; Crucique 15 A fixo, nobis, Gratia tota fluat. Omnia cum Crux sint, Crux Anchora facta, sigillum Non tam dicendum hoc quam Catechismus erit. Mitto nec exigua, exiguâ sub imagine, dona, Pignora amicitiae, et munera; Vota, preces. 20 Plura tibi accumulet, sanctus cognominis, Ille Regia qui flavo Dona sigillat Equo._

[To M^r George Herbert _&c._ _1650-69_, _in sheets added 1650: two and a half lines in Walton's Life of Donne (1658): for Herbert's reply see note Title:_--sent him with one _Walton_ (1670) Seal, _1650-69:_ Seales _Walton_]

[1 fasce] falce _Walton_]

[5 _fronti_] _fronte 1650-69_]

[17 _facta,_] _fixa,_ _1650-69_]

[19 Mitto] Mitto, _1650-69_]

A Sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be My Seal, The Crest of our poore Family. Adopted in Gods Family, and so Our old Coat lost, unto new armes I go. The Crosse (my seal at Baptism) spred below, 5 Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow. Crosses grow Anchors; Bear, as thou shouldst do Thy Crosse, and that Crosse grows an Anchor too. But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus, Is Christ, who there is crucifi'd for us. 10 Yet may I, with this, my first Serpents hold, God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old; The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be; My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me. And as he rounds the Earth to murder sure, 15 My death he is, but on the Crosse, my cure. Crucifie nature then, and then implore All Grace from him, crucified there before; When all is Crosse, and that Crosse Anchor grown, This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone. 20 Under that little Seal great gifts I send, <Wishes,> and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend. And may that Saint which rides in our great Seal, To you, who bear his name, great bounties deal.

[A sheafe _&c._] _1650-69 and in Walton's_ Life of Donne (1658), _in all of which and in all subsequent editions except Grolier the first two lines are printed as a title, Walton bracketing them_:--

A sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be _my Seal, The Crest of our poore Family_. ]

[4 Our ... unto] My ... into _Walton_]

[5 at] in _Walton_]

[11 with this I may _Walton_]

[15 to murder sure,] to murder, sure _Walton_]

[16 He is my death; _Walton_]

[22 Wishes, _Ed_: Works, _1650-69_: Both works _Walton_: Lat. _vota_]

[23-4

Oh may that Saint that rides on our great Seal, To you that bear his name large bounty deal.

_Walton_. ]

Translated out of _Gazæus_, _Vota Amico facta_. _fol._ 160.

God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine, Thou, who dost, best friend, in best things outshine; May thy soul, ever chearfull, nere know cares, Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray haires. Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds, 5 Nor thy purse, ever plump, know pleits, or folds. Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing, Nor thy word, ever mild, know quarrelling. Nor thy works, ever equall, know disguise, Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies. 10 Nor thy prayers, know low objects, still Divine; God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine.

Translated _&c._] _1650-69_, _in sheets added 1650_: _for original see note_]

APPENDIX B.

POEMS WHICH HAVE BEEN ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN DONNE IN THE OLD EDITIONS AND THE PRINCIPAL MS. COLLEC- TIONS, ARRANGED ACCORDING TO THEIR PROBABLE AUTHORS.