The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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AN ELEGYE ON MR. WILLM. HOPTON. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
AN ELEGYE ON MR. WILLM. HOPTON.
When shall myne eyes be dry? I daily see
Proiects on foot; and some haue falne on mee:
Yet (with my fortune) had they tane awaye
The sense I haue to see a friend turne Claye;
They had done something worth the name of Spite;
And (as the grymme and vgly vayle of Night,
Which hydes both good and bad) their malyce then
Had made me worthlesse more the Loue of men
Then are their manners. I had dyde with those,
Who once intombde shall scarce be read in prose:
But whilst I haue a teare to shed for thee,
A Starr shall drop, and yet neglected bee,
For as a thrifty Pismire from the plaine
Busily dragging home some little graine
Is in the midway to her pretty chamber
Fatally wept on by some drop of Amber,
Which straight congealed (to recompence her doome)
The instrument to kill becomes her toombe;
And such a one, that she may well compare
With Egypts Monarchs for a Sepulcher.
Soe as I homewards wend to meet with dust,
Bearing this Griefe along, and it is iust,
Each eye that knew, and knowing held thee deare,
On these sad lines shall shed so true a teare:
It shall beget a second: that, a third:
And propagate so many, that the Bird
Of Araby shall lacke a Sun to burne her,
Ere I shall want a Tombe, or thou a Morner.
For in those teares we will embalmed be,
And proue such Remora's to memorye,
That some malicious at our fame grown sick
Shall dye, and haue their dust made into brick;
And onleye serue to stop some prisons holes,
That hydes as wretched bodyes as their soules.
When (though the earth benight vs at our Noone,)
Wee there will lye like shadowes in the moone;
And euery dust within our graues shall be
A Star to light vs to posteritie.
Proiects on foot; and some haue falne on mee:
Yet (with my fortune) had they tane awaye
The sense I haue to see a friend turne Claye;
They had done something worth the name of Spite;
And (as the grymme and vgly vayle of Night,
Which hydes both good and bad) their malyce then
Had made me worthlesse more the Loue of men
Then are their manners. I had dyde with those,
Who once intombde shall scarce be read in prose:
But whilst I haue a teare to shed for thee,
A Starr shall drop, and yet neglected bee,
For as a thrifty Pismire from the plaine
Busily dragging home some little graine
Is in the midway to her pretty chamber
Fatally wept on by some drop of Amber,
Which straight congealed (to recompence her doome)
The instrument to kill becomes her toombe;
And such a one, that she may well compare
With Egypts Monarchs for a Sepulcher.
Soe as I homewards wend to meet with dust,
Bearing this Griefe along, and it is iust,
306
On these sad lines shall shed so true a teare:
It shall beget a second: that, a third:
And propagate so many, that the Bird
Of Araby shall lacke a Sun to burne her,
Ere I shall want a Tombe, or thou a Morner.
For in those teares we will embalmed be,
And proue such Remora's to memorye,
That some malicious at our fame grown sick
Shall dye, and haue their dust made into brick;
And onleye serue to stop some prisons holes,
That hydes as wretched bodyes as their soules.
When (though the earth benight vs at our Noone,)
Wee there will lye like shadowes in the moone;
And euery dust within our graues shall be
A Star to light vs to posteritie.
But (haples Muse), admitt that this may come,
And men may reade I wept vpon his tombe;
What comfort brings it me? Princes haue tryde
To keep their Names, yet scarce are known they dyde,
So weake is brasse and Marble; & I pierce
His memorye, while that I write this verse;
Since I (his liuing Monument) endyte
And moulder into dust the whyle I write.
Such is the Griefe thy losse hath brought on mee,
I cut some lyfe of in each lyne on thee:
The cold stone that lyes on thee I suruaye,
And, looking on it, feele my selfe turne claye;
Yet grieue not but to thinke, when I am gone,
The Marble will shed teares, when I shed none.
This vexeth mee, that a dead stone shall be
My Riuall in thy Losse and memorye;
That it should both outweepe me and reherse,
When I am dust, thy Glory in my verse.
And men may reade I wept vpon his tombe;
What comfort brings it me? Princes haue tryde
To keep their Names, yet scarce are known they dyde,
So weake is brasse and Marble; & I pierce
His memorye, while that I write this verse;
Since I (his liuing Monument) endyte
And moulder into dust the whyle I write.
Such is the Griefe thy losse hath brought on mee,
I cut some lyfe of in each lyne on thee:
The cold stone that lyes on thee I suruaye,
And, looking on it, feele my selfe turne claye;
Yet grieue not but to thinke, when I am gone,
The Marble will shed teares, when I shed none.
This vexeth mee, that a dead stone shall be
My Riuall in thy Losse and memorye;
That it should both outweepe me and reherse,
When I am dust, thy Glory in my verse.
And much good may it do thee, thou dead stone,
Though not so dead as he thou lyst vpon.
Thou mayst instruct some after age to saye
This was the last bed whereon Hopton laye;
Hopton that knew to chuse & keepe a friend:
That scorn'd as much to flatter as offend:
That had a soule as perfect as each Lymme,
That serud Learnd Pembroke, & did merit him;
And to name Hopton with his Master is
More then a Tombe, although a Pyramis.
Though not so dead as he thou lyst vpon.
307
This was the last bed whereon Hopton laye;
Hopton that knew to chuse & keepe a friend:
That scorn'd as much to flatter as offend:
That had a soule as perfect as each Lymme,
That serud Learnd Pembroke, & did merit him;
And to name Hopton with his Master is
More then a Tombe, although a Pyramis.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |