WEEP on Le Vayer, make thine eyes an urn, Thou hast good reason for thine éxtreme woe, Wisdom herself would let her tears o'er-flowe If her own loss were such as thou dost mourn. Vainly with idle precept the forlorn Strive to behold dry-eyed their loved ones goe; All Nature deems it but a heartless showe, And eyes such crude barbarity with scorn. Too well we knowe no weeping can make whole The dear son whom too sudden Death did reap. Not therefore doth the blowe less sharply smite: All men revered him for his virtuous soul, Large-hearted, lofty-minded, full of light, And for these things we must for ever weep. |