No More Learning

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_, sacrae
Theologiae Doctoris, Ecclesiae Cathedralis Divi _Pauli_,
nuper Decani; Illi honoris, tibi (multum mihi colende
Vir) observantiae ergo Haec ego.

_Conquerar? ignavoque sequar tua funera planctu?
Sed lachrimae clausistis iter: nec muta querelas
Lingua potest proferre pias: ignoscite manes
Defuncti, & tacito finite indulgere dolori.
Sed scelus est tacuisse: cadant in moesta liturae 5
Verba. Tuis (docta umbra) tuis haec accipe jussis
Caepta, nec officii contemnens pignora nostri
Aversare tua non dignum laude Poetam.
O si Pythagorae non vanum dogma fuisset:
Inque meum a vestro migraret pectore pectus 10
Musa, repentinos tua nosceret urna furores.
Sed frustra, heu frustra haec votis puerilibus opto:
Tecum abiit, summoque sedens jam monte Thalia
Ridet anhelantes, Parnassi & culmina vates
Desperare jubet. Verum hac nolente coactos 15
Scribimus audaces numeros, & flebile carmen
Scribimus (o soli qui te dilexit) habendum.
Siccine perpetuus liventia lumina somnus
Clausit? & immerito merguntur funere virtus?
Et pietas? & quae poterant fecisse beatum, 20
Caetera, sed nec te poterant servare beatum.