I Like not tears in tune, nor will I prize His artificial grief that scans his eyes, Mine weep down pious beads, but why should I Confine them to the Muses Rosary? I am no Poet here; my pen 's the spout, Where the rain water of my eyes run out, In pity of that name, whose fate wee see Thus copied out in griefs Hydrography: The Muses are not Mer-maids, though upon His death the Ocean might turn Helicon The sea's too rough for verse; who rhimes upon't With Xerxes strives to fetter th' Hellespont. My tears will keep no channel, know no laws To guide their streams; but like the waves their cause Run with disturbance, till they swallow me As a description of his misery. But can his spacious virtue finde a grave Within th' imposthum'd bubble of a wave? Whose learning if we sound, we must confesse The sea but shallow, and him bottomlesse. Could not the winds to countermand thy death With their whole card of lungs redeem thy breath? Or some new Island in thy rescue peep To heave thy resurrection from the deep? That so the world might see thy safety wrought, With no lesse miracle than thy self was thought. The famous Stagarite, who in his life Had nature as familiar as his wife, Bequeath'd his widow to survive with thee, Queen Dowager of all Philosophy: An ominous legacy that did portend Thy fate and Predecessors second end! Some have affirm'd, that what on earth we find, The Sea can parallel for shape and kind: Books, arts and tongues were wanting, but in thee Neptune hath got an University. We'll dive no more for pearl. The hope to see Thy sacred reliques of mortality Shall welcome storms, and make the sea-man prize His shipwrack now, more than his merchandize. He shall embrace the waves, and to thy tombe (As to a Royaller Exchange) shall come. What can we now expect? Water and Fire Both elements our ruine do conspire: And that dissolves us which doth us compound. One Vatican was burnt, another drown'd. We of the Gown our Libraries must tosse To understand the greatnesse of our losse, Be Pupils to our grief, and so much grow In learning as our sorrows overflow. When we have fill'd the rundlets of our eyes, We'll issue 't forth, and vent such elegies, As that our tears shall seem the Irish Seas We floating Islands, living Hebrides. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: FOR INSPIRATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI I DREAM I'M LEAVING by MARGARET AHO THE POOR FARMER'S OFFERING by APOLLONIDES A MOUNTAIN SOUL (KATHARINE COMAN) by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE MAGNOLIA TREE by EASTER ROHRER BECKER THE BODING DREAMS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |