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. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
AN ELEGYE.
Is Death so great a gamester, that he throwes
Still at the fairest, & must I still loose?
Are we all but as tarryers first begunne,
Made & together put to be vndone?
Will all the ranke of friends, in whom I trust,
Like Sodomes Trees yeeld me no fruit but dust?
Must all I loue, as careles sparkes that fly
Out of a flint, but shew their worth & dye?
Still at the fairest, & must I still loose?
Are we all but as tarryers first begunne,
Made & together put to be vndone?
Will all the ranke of friends, in whom I trust,
Like Sodomes Trees yeeld me no fruit but dust?
Must all I loue, as careles sparkes that fly
Out of a flint, but shew their worth & dye?
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O, where do my for euer losses tend?
I could already by some buryed friend
Count my vnhappy yeares; & should the sun
Leaue me in darknes, as her losse hath done,
(By those few friends I haue yet to intombe)
I might, I feare, account my yeares to come.
What need our Cannons then be so precise
In Registers for our Natiuityes?
They keep vs but in bonds, & strike with feares
Rich parents, till their children be of yeares;
For should they loose & mourne, they might, as I,
Number their yeares by euery elegie.
These Bookes to sum our dayes might well haue stood
In vse with those that liued before ye flood,
When she indeed that forceth me to write,
Should haue byn borne, had Nature done her right;
And at fiue hundred yeares been lesse decayed,
Then now at fifteen is the fairest mayde.
But Nature had not her perfection then,
Or being lothe for such long liuing men,
To spend the treasure wch she held most pure,
She gaue them women apter to endure;
Or prouidently knowing there were more
Countryes & islands which she was to store,
Nature was thrifty, & did thinke it well,
If for some one pert each one did excell:
As this for her neat hand, that for her hayre,
A third for her sweet eyes, a fourth was faire:
And 'tis approu'd by him, who could not drawe
The Queen of Loue, till he a hundred sawe.
Seldom all beautyes met in one, till She
(All other Lands else storde) came finally
To people our sweet Isle: & seeing now
Her substance infinite, she gan to bowe
To lauishnes in euery Nuptiall bed,
And she her fairest was that now is dead;
Dead as a blossome forced from the tree,
And if a Mayden, faire & good as shee,
Tread on thy graue, O let her there professe
Her selfe for euermore an Anchoresse.
Let her be deathles! let her still be yong!
Without this meanes we haue no verse nor tongue.
To say how much I lou'd, or let vs see
How great our losse was in the losse of thee.
Or let the purple Violett grow there,
And feel noe reuolution of the yeare;
But full of dew with euer drooping head,
Shew how I liue, since my best hopes are dead.
I could already by some buryed friend
Count my vnhappy yeares; & should the sun
Leaue me in darknes, as her losse hath done,
(By those few friends I haue yet to intombe)
I might, I feare, account my yeares to come.
What need our Cannons then be so precise
In Registers for our Natiuityes?
They keep vs but in bonds, & strike with feares
Rich parents, till their children be of yeares;
For should they loose & mourne, they might, as I,
Number their yeares by euery elegie.
These Bookes to sum our dayes might well haue stood
In vse with those that liued before ye flood,
When she indeed that forceth me to write,
Should haue byn borne, had Nature done her right;
And at fiue hundred yeares been lesse decayed,
Then now at fifteen is the fairest mayde.
But Nature had not her perfection then,
Or being lothe for such long liuing men,
To spend the treasure wch she held most pure,
She gaue them women apter to endure;
Or prouidently knowing there were more
Countryes & islands which she was to store,
Nature was thrifty, & did thinke it well,
If for some one pert each one did excell:
As this for her neat hand, that for her hayre,
A third for her sweet eyes, a fourth was faire:
And 'tis approu'd by him, who could not drawe
The Queen of Loue, till he a hundred sawe.
Seldom all beautyes met in one, till She
(All other Lands else storde) came finally
To people our sweet Isle: & seeing now
Her substance infinite, she gan to bowe
To lauishnes in euery Nuptiall bed,
And she her fairest was that now is dead;
323
And if a Mayden, faire & good as shee,
Tread on thy graue, O let her there professe
Her selfe for euermore an Anchoresse.
Let her be deathles! let her still be yong!
Without this meanes we haue no verse nor tongue.
To say how much I lou'd, or let vs see
How great our losse was in the losse of thee.
Or let the purple Violett grow there,
And feel noe reuolution of the yeare;
But full of dew with euer drooping head,
Shew how I liue, since my best hopes are dead.
Dead as the world to vertue! Murd'rers, Thieues
Can haue their Pardons, or at least Reprieues.
The Sword of Justice hath been often wonne
By letters from an Execution.
Yet vowes nor prayers could not keepe thee here,
Nor shall I see, the next returning yeare,
Thee with the Roses spring & liue againe.
Th' art lost for euer, as a drop of raine
Falne in a Riuer! for as soone I may
Take vp that drop, or meet the same at Sea,
And know it there, as ere redeeme thee gone,
Or know thee in the graue, when I haue one.
Can haue their Pardons, or at least Reprieues.
The Sword of Justice hath been often wonne
By letters from an Execution.
Yet vowes nor prayers could not keepe thee here,
Nor shall I see, the next returning yeare,
Thee with the Roses spring & liue againe.
Th' art lost for euer, as a drop of raine
Falne in a Riuer! for as soone I may
Take vp that drop, or meet the same at Sea,
And know it there, as ere redeeme thee gone,
Or know thee in the graue, when I haue one.
O! had that hollow Vault, where thou dost lye,
An Eccho in it, my strong phantasye
Would draw me soone to thinke her words were thine,
And I would hourely come, & to thy shrine
Talke as I often vsed to talke with thee,
And frame my words that thou mightst answer me
As when thou liuedst: Ide sigh, & say I loue,
And thou shouldst do so to, till we had moued
(With our complts) to teares each marble cell
Of those dead Neighbors which about thee dwell.
An Eccho in it, my strong phantasye
Would draw me soone to thinke her words were thine,
And I would hourely come, & to thy shrine
Talke as I often vsed to talke with thee,
And frame my words that thou mightst answer me
As when thou liuedst: Ide sigh, & say I loue,
And thou shouldst do so to, till we had moued
(With our complts) to teares each marble cell
Of those dead Neighbors which about thee dwell.
And when the holy father came to saye
His Orisons, Ide aske him if the daye
Of Miracles were past, or whether he
Knew any one whose faith & pietye
Could raise the dead; but he would answer, none
Can bring thee back to life; though many one
Our cursed days afford, that dare to thrust
Their hands prophane to raise the sacred dust
Of holy saints out of their beds of Rest.
His Orisons, Ide aske him if the daye
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Knew any one whose faith & pietye
Could raise the dead; but he would answer, none
Can bring thee back to life; though many one
Our cursed days afford, that dare to thrust
Their hands prophane to raise the sacred dust
Of holy saints out of their beds of Rest.
Abhorred dayes! O maye there none molest
Thy quiet peace! but in thy Arke remayne
Vntouch'd, as those the old one did contayne,
Till he that can reward thy greatest worth,
Shall send the peacefull Doue to call thee forth.
Thy quiet peace! but in thy Arke remayne
Vntouch'd, as those the old one did contayne,
Till he that can reward thy greatest worth,
Shall send the peacefull Doue to call thee forth.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |