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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON THE DEATH OF MR RANDOLPH, by R. GOSTELOW First Line: When donne and beaumont died, an epitaph Last Line: Since wit's decay, or randolph's death -- so long. Alternate Author Name(s): Feltham, Owen Subject(s): Death; Randolph, Thomas (1605-1634); Dead, The | |||
WHEN Donne and Beaumont died, an epitaph Some men (I well remember) thought unsafe, And said they did presume to write, unless They could their tears in their expression dress. But love makes me more bold, and tells me I In humble terms to vent my piety May safely dare; and reason thinks not fit, For which I lov'd, I now should fear that wit. Respect looks like a bargain, if confin'd To rules precise, and is more just than kind, If by a pois'd and equal testament It turns goodwill into a covenant. Must every present offer'd to a prince Be just proportion'd to his eminence? Or ought my elegy unjust be thought, Because I cannot mourn thee as I ought? Such laws as these (if any be so bold), Ought those unskilful but proud souls to hold, Who think they could and did at a due rate Love thee, not me, whose love was passionate, And hath decreed, howe'er the censure go, Thus much, although but thus, to let men know, I do admire no comet did presage The mournful period of thy wonder'd age; Or that no Sybil did thy death foretell, Since that by it alone more ill befell The laurel god, than when the day was come, Wherein his Delphic oracle was dumb. In meaner wits that proverb chance may hold (That they who are soon ripe are seldom old), But 'twas a poor one, and for thee unfit, Whose infancy might teach their best years wit: Whose talk was exemplary to their pains, And whose discourse was tutor to their strains. If thou wert serious, then the audience Heard Plato's works in Tully's eloquence: If sad, the mourners knew no thrifty sighs In tears, but still cried out: O, lend more eyes! If merry, then the juice of comedy So sweeten'd every word, that we might see Each stander-by having enough to do To temper mirth, until some friend could woo Thee take the pains to write, that so, that pressure Checking thy soul's quick motions, some small leisure Might be obtain'd to make provision Of breath against the next scene's action. I could go through thy works, which will survive The funeral of time, and gladly strive Beyond my power to make that love appear Which after death is best seen in a tear. But praising one, I should dispraise the rest, Since whatsoe'er thou didst was still the best. Since then I am persuaded that in thee Wit at her acme was, and we shall see Posterity not daring to aspire To equalise, but only to admire Thee as their archtype: with thought of thee Henceforth I'll thus enrich my memory! While others count from earthquakes and great frost, And say, i' th' last dear year, 'twould thus much cost; My time-distinctions this shall be among, Since wit's decay, or Randolph's death -- so long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND A COUNTRY BURIAL by EMILY DICKINSON IN ANSWER TO MR. POPE by ANNE FINCH THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 38. THE MORROW'S MESSAGE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |
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