Greenes Funeralls By R. B. [i.e. Richard Barnfield] |
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Sonnet, IX.
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 | Greenes Funeralls |  |
Sonnet, IX.
[Greene, is the pleasing Obiect of an eie]
Greene, is the pleasing Obiect of an eie:
Greene, pleasde the eies of all that lookt vppon him.
Greene, is the ground of euerie Painters die:
Greene, gaue the ground, to all that wrote vpon him.
Nay more the men, that so Eclipst his fame:
Purloynde his Plumes, can they deny the same?
Greene, pleasde the eies of all that lookt vppon him.
Greene, is the ground of euerie Painters die:
Greene, gaue the ground, to all that wrote vpon him.
Nay more the men, that so Eclipst his fame:
Purloynde his Plumes, can they deny the same?
Ah could my Muse, old Maltaes Poet passe,
(Jf any Muse could passe, old Maltaes Poet.)
Then should his name be set in shining brasse,
In shining brasse for all the world to show it.
That little children, not as yet begotten
Might royallize his fame when he is rotten.
(Jf any Muse could passe, old Maltaes Poet.)
Then should his name be set in shining brasse,
In shining brasse for all the world to show it.
That little children, not as yet begotten
Might royallize his fame when he is rotten.
But since my Muse begins to vaile hir wings,
And flutter low vpon the lowly Earth:
As one that sugred Sonnets, seldome singes,
Except the sound of sadnes, more than mirth,
To tell the worth of such a worthy man:
Jle leaue it vnto those, that better can.
And flutter low vpon the lowly Earth:
As one that sugred Sonnets, seldome singes,
To tell the worth of such a worthy man:
Jle leaue it vnto those, that better can.
Now may thy soule againe, goe take his rest
(His pleasant rest) in those eternall ioyes
Where burning Tapers, still attend the blest
To light, and lighten them from all annoyes.
Goe then poore Poet, liue and neuer die:
Euer, yet neuerbut in miserie.
(His pleasant rest) in those eternall ioyes
Where burning Tapers, still attend the blest
To light, and lighten them from all annoyes.
Goe then poore Poet, liue and neuer die:
Euer, yet neuerbut in miserie.
And as I came into the world vnknowne,
Moude with compassion, of thy piteous plaint:
So will I now againe, my selfe goe mone,
That durst presume, thy praise in verse to paint.
And if the Muses pardon, mine so weake:
I passe not of a pin, what others speake.
Moude with compassion, of thy piteous plaint:
So will I now againe, my selfe goe mone,
That durst presume, thy praise in verse to paint.
And if the Muses pardon, mine so weake:
I passe not of a pin, what others speake.
| Greenes Funeralls | |