Several Poems, Elegy 2
In honour of Du Bartas, 1641.
Among the happy wits this age hath ſhown.
Great, dear, ſweet Bartas thou art matchleſs known,
My raviſh'd Eyes and heart with faltering tongue,
In humble wiſe have vow'd their ſervice long,
But knowing th'task ſo great, & ſtrength but ſmall,
Gave o're the work before begun withal,
My dazled ſight of late review'd thy lines,
Where Art, and more then Art, in nature ſhines,
Reflection from their beam…ng Altitude,
Did thaw my frozen hearts ingratitude;
Which Rayes darting upon ſome richer ground,
Had cauſed flours and fruits ſoon to abound;
But barren I my Daſey here do bring,
A homely flour in this my latter Spring,
If Summer, or my Autumn age do yield,
Flours, fruits in Garden, Orchard, or in Field,
They ſhall be conſecrated in my Verſe,
And proſtrate offered at great Bartas Herſe;
My muſe unto a Child I may compare,
Who ſees the riches of ſome famous Fair,
He feeds his Eyes, but underſtanding lacks
To comprehend the worth of all thoſe knacks:
The glittering plate and lewels he admires,
The Hats and Fans, the Plumes and Ladies tires,
And thouſand times his mazed mind doth wiſh
Some part (at leaſt) of that brave wealth was his,
But ſeeing empty wiſhes nought obtain,
At night turns to his Mothers cot again,
And tells her tales, (his full heart over-glad)
Of all the glorious ſights his Eyes have had:
But finds too ſoon his want of Eloquence,
The ſilly pratler ſpeaks no word of ſenſe,
But ſeeing utterance fail his great deſires,
Sits down in ſilence, deeply he admires:
Thus weak brain'd I, reading thy lofty ſtile,
Thy profound learning, viewing other while;
Thy Art in natural Philoſophy,
Thy Saint like mind in grave Divinity;
Thy piercing skill in high Aſtronomy,
And curious inſight in Anatomy:
Thy Phyſick, muſick and ſtate policy,
Valour in warr, in peace good husbandry.
Sure lib'ral Nature did with Art not ſmall,
In all the arts make thee moſt liberal.
A thouſand thouſand times my ſe…ſleſs ſences
Moveleſs ſtand charm'd by thy ſweet influences;
More ſenſleſs then the ſtones to Amphio…s Lute,
Mine eyes are ſightleſs, and my tongue is mute,
My full aſtoniſh'd heart doth pant to break,
Through grief it wants a faculty to ſpeak:
Volleyes of praiſes could I eccho then,
Had I an Angels voice, or Bartas pen:
But wiſhes can't accompliſh my deſire,
Pardon if I adore, when I admire.
O France thou did'ſt in him more glory gain
Then in thy Martel, Pipin, Charlemain,
Then in St. Lewes, or thy laſt Henry Great,
Who tam'd his foes in warrs, in bloud and ſweat.
Thy fame is ſpread as far, I dare be bold,
In all the Zones, the temp'rate hot and cold.
Their Trophies were but heaps of wounded ſlain,
Thine, the quinteſſence of an heroick brain.
The oaken Garland ought to deck their brows,
Immortal Bayes to thee all men allows.
VVho in thy tryumphs never won by wrongs,
Lead'ſt millions chaind by eyes, by ears, by tongues
Oft have I wondred at the hand of heaven,
In giving one what would have ſerved ſeven.
If e're this golden gift was ſhowr'd on any,
Thy double portion would have ſerved many.
Unto each man his riches is aſſign'd
Of Name, of State, of Body and of Mind:
Thou hadſt thy part of all, but of the laſt,
O pregnant brain, O comprehenſion vaſt:
Thy haughty Stile▪ and rapted wit ſublime
All ages wondring at, ſhall never climb.
Thy ſacred works are not for imitation,
But Monuments to future Admiration.
Thus Bartas fame ſhall laſt while ſtarrs do ſtand,
And whilſt there's Air or Fire, or Sea or Land.
But leaſt mine ignorance ſhould do thee wrong,
To celebrate thy merits in my Song.
I'le leave thy praiſe to thoſe ſhall do thee right,
Good will, not skill, did cauſe me bring my Mite.
His Epitaph.
Here lyes the Pearle of France, Parnaſſus Glory;
The World rejoyc'd at's birth, at's death was ſorry.
Art and Nature joyn'd, by heavens high decree
Now ſhew'd what once they ought, Humanity:
And Natures Law, had it been revocable
To reſcue him from death, Art had been able.
But Nature vanquiſh'd Art, ſo Bartas dy'd,
But Fame out-living both, he is reviv'd.