Deaths Duel, Elegy – Epitaph
AN ELEGIE, On Dr. Donne, Deane of Pauls.
TO have liu'd eminent in a degree
Beyond our loftiest flights, that is, like thee;
Ort'haue had too much merit is not safe;
For such excesses find no Epitaph,
At common graues wee hauehave poetick eyes
Can melt them selues in easy 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) wee hauehave none.
Indeed a silence doth that tombe befit,
Where is no Herald left to blazon it.
Widdow'd inuention iustly doth forbeare
To come abroade knowing thou art not there,
Late her great Patron, whose prerogatiue
Maintain'd and cloth'd her so, as none aliue
Must now presume to keepe her at thy rate,
Though hee the Indies for her dower estate.
Or els that awfull fire, which once did burne
In thy cleare braine, now fal'ne into thy vrne,
Liues there to fright rude Empericks from thence,
Which might profane thee by their ignorance.
Whoeuer writes of thee and in a style
Vnworthy such a theame, does but reuile
Thy pretious dust, and wake a learned spirit,
Which might reuenge his rapes vponupon thy merit.
For all a low pitch'd fancy can deuise,
Will proue at best but hallowed iniuries.
Thou (like the dying Swan) did'st lately sing
Thy mournefull dirge in audience of the King:
When pale lookes, and weake accents of thy breath
Presented so to life that peece of death,
That it was fear'd and prophecied by all,
Thou thither camist to preach thy Funerall.
O' had'st thou in an Elegiak knell
Pung out vntounto the world thine owne farwell;
And in thy high victorious numbers beat
The solemne measure of thy griewd retreat:
Thou might'st the Poets seruice now hauehave mist
Aswell, as then thou did'st preuent the Priest,
And neuer to the world beholding bee
So much as for an Epitaph for thee.
I doe not like the office, nor is it fit,
Thou who did'st lend our age such summes of wit,
Should'st now reborrow from her bankrupt mine
That ore to bury thee, which once was thine:
Rather still leaue vsus in thy debt, and know
(Exalted soule) more glory'tis to owe
Vntothy hearse, what wee can neuer pay,
Then with embased coyne those rights defray.
Commit wee then thee to thy selfe; nor blame
Our drooping loues, which thus to thy owne fame
Leaue thee executor. since but thy owne
No pen could doe'thee Iustice, nor bayes crowne
Thy vast d…sert, saue that wee nothing can
Depute to bee thy ashes Guardian.
So Iewellers no art nor mettall trust,
To forme the Diamond, but the Diamonds dust.
An Epitaph on Dr. DONNE.
I Cannot blame those men, that knew thee well,
Yet dare not helpe the world to ring thy knell
In tunefull Elegies. Ther's not language knowne
Fit for thy mention, but was first thine owne.
The Epitaphs thou writt'st, hauehave so ber…ft
Our pens of wit, ther's not one fancy left
Enough to weepe thee, what hence forth wee seo
Of art and nature, must result from thee.
There may perchance some busy gathering friend
Ste…le from thine owne works, and that varied lend
(Which thou bestowd'st on others) to thy hearse;
And so thou shalt liue still in thine owne verse.
Hee that will venture further, may commit
A pitied errour, shew his Zeale, not wit.
Fate hath done mank…nd wrong; vertue may aime
Reward of consciense, neuer can of fame,
Since her great trumpet's broke, could only giuegive
Faith to the world, command it to beleeue.
Hee then must write, that would define thy parts
Heere lyes the best Diuinity, all the Arts.
End of the text · John Donne, Deaths Duel (1632)