Waltoniana | Page 5

monuments, to those, whose praise He would perpetuate? Did he (I feare The dull will doubt:) these at his twentieth year? But, more matur'd; Did his full soule conceive, And in harmonious-holy-numbers weave A [2]_Crown of sacred sonnets_, 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 he 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, for wit,[3] Equall to those, great grave Prudentius writ? Spake he all _Languages_? knew he all Lawes? The grounds and use of _Physick_; 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 since S. Paul none did, none could? Those know, (Such as were blest to heare him) this is truth.[4] Did he confirm thy aged?[5] 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 Doe waste the braine) make silence a safe way, To'inlarge the Soule from these walls, mud and clay, (Materials of this body) to remaine With Donne in heaven, where no promiscuous pain Lessens the joy we have, for, with _him_, all Are satisfy'd with joyes essentiall. Dwell on this joy my thoughts; oh, doe not call[6] Griefe back, by thinking of his Funerall; Forget hee lov'd mee; Waste not my sad yeares; (Which hast 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 dayly payd for sinne) Forget to pay my second sigh for him: Forget his powerfull preaching; and forget I am his Convert. Oh my frailty! let My flesh be no more heard, it will obtrude This lethargy: so should my gratitude, My flowes[7] of gratitude should so be broke; Which can no more be, than Donnes vertues spoke By any but himselfe; for which cause, I Write no _Encomium_, but this _Elegie_,[8] Which, as a free-will-offring, I here give Fame, and the world, and parting with it grieve I want abilities, fit to set forth A monument, great, as Donnes matchlesse worth. IZ. WA.
FOOTNOTES
[1] In the edition of 1633, the poem opens thus:-- 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, &c.
[2] La Corona.
[3] for piety and wit,--1633.
[4] As none but hee did, or could do? They know (Such as were blest to heare him know) 'tis truth.--1633.
[5] age in the edition of 1633.
[6] My thoughts, Dwell on this _Joy_, and do not call--1633.
[7] vowes in the edition of 1633.
[8] Write no _Encomium_, but an Elegie. Here the poem closed in the edition of 1633.
* * * * *

LINES ON A PORTRAIT OF DONNE IN HIS EIGHTEENTH YEAR.
1635.

[Engraved under William Marshall's Portrait of Donne, "Anno Domini. 1591. Aetatis suae 18," prefixed to the second edition of Donne's Poems, 1635.]

On a Portrait of DONNE _taken in his eighteenth year._
This was for youth, Strength, Mirth, and wit that Time Most count their golden Age; but t'was not thine. Thine was thy later yeares, so much refind From youths Drosse, Mirth & wit; as thy pure mind Thought (like the Angels) nothing but the Praise Of thy Creator, in those last, best Dayes. Witnes this Booke, (thy Embleme) which begins With Love; but endes, with Sighes, & Teares for sin's. IZ: WA:
* * * * *

COMMENDATORY VERSES PREFIXED TO THE MERCHANTS MAPPE OF COMMERCE.
1638.

[The Merchants Mappe of Commerce: wherein the Universall Manner and Matter of Trade, is compendiously handled. By Lewes Roberts, Merchant. At London, Printed by R.O. for Ralph Mabb MDCXXXVIII. _fol._
--The Second Edition, Corrected and much Enlarged. London, MDCLXXI. _fol._]

_In praise of my friend the Author, and his Booke._
TO THE READER.
If thou would'st be a _States-man_, and survay Kingdomes for information; heres a way Made plaine, and easie: fitter far for thee Then great Ortelius his Geographie.
If thou would'st be a _Gentleman_, in more Then title onely; this MAP yeelds thee store Of Observations, fit for Ornament, Or use, or to give curious eares content.
If thou would'st be a _Merchant_, buy this Booke: For 'tis a prize worth gold; and doe not looke Daily for such disbursements; no, 'tis rare, And should be cast up with thy richest ware.
READER, if