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 ELEGIE
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
AN ELEGIE
ON THE UNTIMELYE DEATH OF HIS EUER HONOR'D AS MUCH BELOUED AS LAMENTED FRIEND, MR. THOMAS AYLEWORTH OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, SLAYNE AT CROYDEN, & THERE BURYED.
Is Goodnes shortest liu'd? doth Nature bring
Her choicest flowres but to adorne the Spring?
Are all men but as Tarryers? first begun,
Made & together put to be vndone?
Will all the ranke of friends in whom I trust,
Like Sodome trees, yield me no fruit but dust?
Must all I love, as careles sparkes that flye
Out of a flint, but shew their worth & dye?
Will nature euer to things fleeting bowe?
Doth she but like the toyling Hine at plough
Sow to be in'd? then Ile begin a lore
Hard to be learn'd, loue still to wayle no more;
I euer will affect that good, which he
Made the firme steps to his eternitye.
I will adore no other light then shynes
From my best thoughts, to read his life; the mynes
Of richest India shall not buy from me
That booke one howre wherein I studye thee.
A booke, wherin mens lives so taxed bin,
That all men labour'd death to call it in.
What now as licens'd is dispers'd about,
Is no true coppy, or the best left out.
Noe ornaments Ile love brought from the Change,
But what's in it, & in the Court more strange,
Vertue; which clad thee well, [and] I may haue,
Without the danger of a living graue.
I will not wish fortune should make of me
A worshipp'd golden Calfe (as most rich be);
But let her (for all Lands else) grant me this,
To be an Inmate in that house now his.
One stone will serue, one Epitaph aboue,
So one shall be our dust, as was our loue.
Her choicest flowres but to adorne the Spring?
Are all men but as Tarryers? first begun,
Made & together put to be vndone?
Will all the ranke of friends in whom I trust,
Like Sodome trees, yield me no fruit but dust?
Must all I love, as careles sparkes that flye
Out of a flint, but shew their worth & dye?
Will nature euer to things fleeting bowe?
Doth she but like the toyling Hine at plough
Sow to be in'd? then Ile begin a lore
Hard to be learn'd, loue still to wayle no more;
I euer will affect that good, which he
Made the firme steps to his eternitye.
I will adore no other light then shynes
From my best thoughts, to read his life; the mynes
Of richest India shall not buy from me
That booke one howre wherein I studye thee.
A booke, wherin mens lives so taxed bin,
320
What now as licens'd is dispers'd about,
Is no true coppy, or the best left out.
Noe ornaments Ile love brought from the Change,
But what's in it, & in the Court more strange,
Vertue; which clad thee well, [and] I may haue,
Without the danger of a living graue.
I will not wish fortune should make of me
A worshipp'd golden Calfe (as most rich be);
But let her (for all Lands else) grant me this,
To be an Inmate in that house now his.
One stone will serue, one Epitaph aboue,
So one shall be our dust, as was our loue.
O, if priuatōn be the greatest paine,
Which wretched soules in endles night susteyne,
What mortall torment can be worse then his,
That by enioyeing, knowes what loseing is?
Yet such is mine. Then if with sacred fire
A passion euer did a Muse inspire;
Or if a grief sick heart hath writt a lyne,
Then Art or Nature could more genuyne,
More full of Accents sad; Let it appeare
In what I write, if any drop a teare,
To this small payment of my latest debt
He witnes is, that 'twas not counterfet.
Which wretched soules in endles night susteyne,
What mortall torment can be worse then his,
That by enioyeing, knowes what loseing is?
Yet such is mine. Then if with sacred fire
A passion euer did a Muse inspire;
Or if a grief sick heart hath writt a lyne,
Then Art or Nature could more genuyne,
More full of Accents sad; Let it appeare
In what I write, if any drop a teare,
To this small payment of my latest debt
He witnes is, that 'twas not counterfet.
Maye this be neuer knowne to harts of stone,
That measure all mens sorrowes by their owne;
And thinke noe flood should euer drowne an Eye,
That hath not issue from an iniurye
Of some misfortune, tending more the losse
Of goods then goodnes. Let this haples crosse
Alone be read, & knowne by such as be
Apt to receiue that seale of miserie,
Which his vntimely death prints on my heart.
That measure all mens sorrowes by their owne;
And thinke noe flood should euer drowne an Eye,
That hath not issue from an iniurye
Of some misfortune, tending more the losse
Of goods then goodnes. Let this haples crosse
Alone be read, & knowne by such as be
Apt to receiue that seale of miserie,
Which his vntimely death prints on my heart.
And if that Fatall hand (which did the part
That Fate should haue perform'd) shall euer chance
(Either of purpose or through ignorance)
To touch this paper may it rose-like wither.
Or as the plant Sentida shrink together!
Let him not read it; be the Letters dym,
Although the Ordinarie giue it him!
Or let the words transpose them & impart
A Crying Anagram for his desert.
Or maye the inke (now drye) grow green againe,
As wounds (before the Murdrer) of the slayne.
So these sad lynes shall (in the Judges Eye)
Be his accuser & mine Elegie.
That Fate should haue perform'd) shall euer chance
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To touch this paper may it rose-like wither.
Or as the plant Sentida shrink together!
Let him not read it; be the Letters dym,
Although the Ordinarie giue it him!
Or let the words transpose them & impart
A Crying Anagram for his desert.
Or maye the inke (now drye) grow green againe,
As wounds (before the Murdrer) of the slayne.
So these sad lynes shall (in the Judges Eye)
Be his accuser & mine Elegie.
But vayne are imprecations. And I feare
Almost to shew him in a Character,
Least some accursed hand the same should stayne,
Or by depraving murther him againe.
Almost to shew him in a Character,
Least some accursed hand the same should stayne,
Or by depraving murther him againe.
Sleepe then, sweet soule; and if thy vertues be
In any breast, by him wee'le portraict thee.
If thou hadst liv'd where heathen gods haue reign'd,
Thy vertues thee a Deitie had gain'd.
But now more blest! And though thy honord shryne
Be vnaddorn'd by stone, or Indyan mine:
Yet whilst that any good to Earth is lent,
Thou canst not lye without a Monument.
In any breast, by him wee'le portraict thee.
If thou hadst liv'd where heathen gods haue reign'd,
Thy vertues thee a Deitie had gain'd.
But now more blest! And though thy honord shryne
Be vnaddorn'd by stone, or Indyan mine:
Yet whilst that any good to Earth is lent,
Thou canst not lye without a Monument.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |