[Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral to which is added A Discourse of Life] [by John Tutchin] |
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TO THE Memory of the Right Honourable THE EARL of ROCHESTER. |
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 | [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral |  |
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TO THE Memory of the Right Honourable THE EARL of ROCHESTER.
Cease, Poets, cease, you are undone;The Muses dearest darling Son
Is to the blest Elysium gone.
If Poets have in Heaven aboad,
There he'll commence a happy God:
For sure no Earthly Star cou'd shine,
With such a lustre, so Divine.
Oh! Had I trembling at thy Death,
Stood to suck in thy parting Breath,
That charming Philtre, which could prove
The source of Poetry and Love.
Ah! who shall Paint thy Passion right?
That lasting Torch of endless Light.
What manly force thy temper sway'd?
Yet gentle as a Love-sick Maid.
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By Fools applause, and Vulgar Cheat,
Thy Fancy strive to imitate.
Let me, Ah let me! but presume,
From thy gay Wings to pluck one Plume;
How would I brustle then, and spread
My Feathers on the Muses Bed?
But how dare I approach thy Shrine,
That's Sacred all, and all Divine:
Yet let my lesser Fire burn,
And be attendant at thy Urn;
When Orpheus, all lament and cry,
And senseless Stones, why should not I?
Under yon Beech but 'tother Day,
Young Philocles and Cloris lay
To hear thy Pipe, and hear thy Lays,
That shorter made the tedious Days.
But now as much they grieve and moan;
The Lord Adonis dead and gone.
Lov'd Silver Thames, so fam'd in Song,
With groaning streams does glide along:
Dropping like Tears, its Waters fall,
As if it wept thy Funeral.
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I grieve, I sigh, to think on thee;
But more I grieve when I peruse
The Bawdy flashes of thy Muse.
This to the Publishers was due,
Not Licens'd and Allow'd by you:
But the lewd wretches took the pain
To act the Bawdy Lectures o're again.
| [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral | |