ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. John Donne
, "To the Memory of his honoured Friend Master John Donne, an Eversary" Beedome, Poems (1641) sigs G7-G8v.
Rev. John Donne:
1602: John Manningham
1611 ca.: John Davies of Hereford
1614: Thomas Freeman
1616: Ben Jonson
1616: Ben Jonson
1619: Ben Jonson
1633: Henry King
1633: Tho: Browne
1633: Edward Hyde
1633: Richard Corbet
1633: Izaak Walton
1633: Endymion Porter
1638: Rev. Nathaniel Whiting
1639: Thomas Bancroft
1640: Izaac Walton
1640 ca.: Thomas Beedome
1646: George Daniel of Beswick
1673: Charles Cotton
1693: John Dryden
1697: William Walsh
1734: Alexander Pope
1750: Thomas Gray
1779: Rev. Vicesimus Knox
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1789: Edmond Malone
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1800: Dr. Nathan Drake
1801: Henry Kirke White
1806: Peter L. Courtier
1806: Joseph Dennie
1815: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1818: William Hazlitt
1819: Leigh Hunt
1820: John Payne Collier
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1827: Henry Neele
1829: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1831: Robert Southey
1834: Robert Aris Willmott
1836: Richard Cattermole
1837: Henry Hallam
1847: Edward Farr
1859: David Masson
1860: George Gilfillan
1880: John W. Hales
1882: Epes Sargent
1638: Robert Farley
1640 ca.: Rev. John Donne
1640 ca.: George Wither
Blest dust, and better soule, to you alone,
I raise this structure, not in Jet or Stone,
Whose frailety in its luster onely can,
Tell us below, there lyes a frayler man.
But heightned by those severall glories which
Does equally your better selfe inrich,
In those rude lines, if such poore things can live,
I would a memory to your being give.
Burst ope thy Cell, blest shade, and rise, that we
May doe some homage to thy excellency.
Or that thy great example may invite,
Us to a wish of everlasting night,
In which thy Sun of vertue shall appeare,
So full, as if earth had no darknesse there.
Oh happy spring of thine, whose seede and flower
Was sowed and bloom'd, and witherd in an hower,
For if long age be counted but a span,
Thy inch of time scarce measur'd halfe a man.
But sleepe, sleepe best of spirits, why should I
Disturbe thy ashes? tis a misery,
To know thou wert, and art not, for so men,
Mourne, Jewels they once had, but lost agen,
So he, whose bitter fate is forc't to prove,
The misery of a memorable Love,
Remembring what it was, and since no more
He may enjoy it as he did before,
Weepes the sad consequence, and prints thereby
His sorrowes, offerd to the Readers eye.
But I must leave thee thus, and thinke of thee,
To the mad world, a just Antipathy.
Thou wert not of those men whose gowne and hood,
Must plead a wisdome, though not understood.
Nor of the tribe of such as easily can,
Drop jests, or vapours upon any man.
These are the Indians, that doe friske and run,
To the false rayes of each supposed Sunne:
Simple Americans that doe ingrosse
The toyes of every noble genius,
Nor were you such whose cunning had the skill,
To murder a friend closely, nor to kill
With a pretence of safety; your just Endes
Depended not on liking of your friends.
But if the opposites of vice may be,
Exprest by any contrariety,
Let all men know, what all men wish, which is
But a content on earth, and after blisse,
Which thou art crownd with, thus some stones are set
At greater rate, then some whole Cabinet,
When thy triumphant spirit once did inne,
At the poore cottage of thy frayler skinne,
Though every thought was payment of a rent,
To high, and worthy such a tenement,
Yet as it had a knowledge did dispaire,
Because thou wouldst not tarry longer there.
It droopes and ruinates it selfe, and falls,
In every glory of its principalls.
So Princes in a journey having beene
The honoured guests of some poore village Inne
Are mourn'd at their departure, and now more
Grieves the sad host, then he was glad before.
Come Virgins, you whose innocency can
Embalme the memory of a divine man;
You whose unspotted glories as your faces
Preserve your fame and multiply its graces:
Whose easie goodnesse never did affect
To wound obedient spirits with neglect,
Nor triumph in the fall of former lovers,
Come, come, blest Virgins bring your peacefull Doves,
And at the Altar of his sacred shrine,
Present them and your zeale, as I doe mine.
That to the world hereafter may be read,
Here innocency by Virgins wound lyes dead.