 | Poems By John Hall |  |
58
Upon Mr. Robert Wiseman, Son to Sir Richard Wiseman, Essex.
But that we weigh our happinesse by thineWe could not (precious Soule) from teares decline,
Although the Muses Silver streame would be
Too poore by farre to drop an Elegie;
But thats below thee, since thy vertues are
The spices that Embalme thee, thou art farre
More Richly laid, and shalt more long remaine
Still mummifi'd within the hearts of men,
Then if to list thee in the Rolls of Fame
Each marble spoke thy shape, all brasse thy name.
Sleepe sacred ashes that did once containe
This Jewell, and shalt once, and e're, againe
Sleep undisturb'd; envy can only raise
Her selfe at living, hate graspe lower preyes;
We'le not defloure you, let us only prye
What Treasures in ye did involved lie,
So young, so learned and so wise, O here's
Example, Wisdom's not the Childe of yeares.
59
Devotion is not coffin'd in a Cell,
Nor choak'd by wealth; wealth hated harmelesse proves,
And only knowes to mischiefe him that loves.
So faire and yet so chaste! Lust is not ever
Youths constant Sorcresse, but doth sometime sever
To looke on morall vertues; there'le appeare
The Courtier twisted with th'Philosopher:
Nor were they on spruce Apothegmes spent
Begot twixt Idlenesse and Discontent,
But acted to the life and unconstrain'd,
The Sisters sweetly walking hand in hand,
And so entirely twisted that alone
None could be view'd, all were together one;
As twinckling Spangles that together lie,
Joyne forces and make up one Galaxie;
As various Gums dissolving in one fire
Together in one fragrant fume expire.
Sleep then triumphant Soule, thy funeralls
For admiration and not mourning calls.
| Poems By John Hall | |