Classic Poem

Elegie, 7.

There is no peace in sinne. Æternall war
Doth rage 'mong vices. But all vertues are
Friends 'mong themselves, and choisest accents be
Harsh Eccho's of their heavenly harmonie.
While thou didst live we did that union finde
In the so faire republick of thy mind,
Where discord never swel'd. And as we dare
Affirme those goodly structures, temples are
Where well-tun'd quires strike zeale into the eare:
The musique of thy soule made us say, there
God had his Altars; every breath a spice
And each religious act a sacrifice.
But death hath that demolisht. All our eye
Of thee now sees doth like a Cittie lye
Raz'd by the cannon. Where is then that flame
That added warmth and beauty to thy frame?
Fled heaven-ward to repaire, with its pure fire
The losses of some maim'd Seraphick quire?
Or hovers it beneath, the world t' uphold
From generall ruine, and expell that cold
Dull humor weakens it? If so it be;
My sorrow yet must prayse fates charity.
But thy example (if kinde heaven had daignd
Frailty that favour) had mankind regaind
To his first purity. For that the wit
Of vice, might not except 'gainst th' Ancherit
As too to strickt; thou didst uncloyster'd live:
Teaching the soule by what preservative,
She may from sinnes contagion live secure,
Though all the ayre she suckt in, were impure.
In this darke mist of error with a cleare
Vnspotted light, thy vertue did appeare
T' obrayd corrupted man. How could the rage
Of untam'd lust have scorcht decrepit age;
Had it seene thy chast youth? Who could the wealth
Of time have spent in ryot, or his health
By surfeits forfeited; if he had seene
What temperance had in thy dyet beene?
What glorious foole had vaunted honours bought
By gold or practise, or by rapin brought
From his fore-fathers, had he understood
How Talbot valued not his owne great blood!
Had Politicians seene him scorning more
The unsafe pompe of greatnesse, then the poore
Thatcht roofes of shepheards, where th' unruly wind
(A gentler storme than pride) uncheckt doth find
Still free admittance: their pale labors had
Beene to be good, not to be great and bad.
But he is lost in a blind vault, and we
Must not admire though sinnes now frequent be
And uncontrol'd: Since those faire tables where
The Law was writ by death now broken are,
By death extinguisht is that Star, whose light
Did shine so faithfull: that each ship sayl'd right
Which steer'd by that. Nor marvell then if we,
(That failing) lost in this worlds tempest be.
But to what Orbe so ere thou dost retyre,
Far from our ken: tis blest, while by thy fire
Enlighten'd. And since thou must never here
Be seene againe: may I ore-take thee there.

Elegie, 7.

There is no peace in sinne. Æternall war
Doth rage 'mong vices. But all vertues are
Friends 'mong themselves, and choisest accents be
Harsh Eccho's of their heavenly harmonie.
While thou didst live we did that union finde
In the so faire republick of thy mind,
Where discord never swel'd. And as we dare
Affirme those goodly structures, temples are
Where well-tun'd quires strike zeale into the eare:
The musique of thy soule made us say, there
God had his Altars; every breath a spice
And each religious act a sacrifice.
But death hath that demolisht. All our eye
Of thee now sees doth like a Cittie lye
Raz'd by the cannon. Where is then that flame
That added warmth and beauty to thy frame?
Fled heaven-ward to repaire, with its pure fire
The losses of some maim'd Seraphick quire?
Or hovers it beneath, the world t' uphold
From generall ruine, and expell that cold
Dull humor weakens it? If so it be;
My sorrow yet must prayse fates charity.
But thy example (if kinde heaven had daignd
Frailty that favour) had mankind regaind
To his first purity. For that the wit
Of vice, might not except 'gainst th' Ancherit
As too to strickt; thou didst uncloyster'd live:
Teaching the soule by what preservative,
She may from sinnes contagion live secure,
Though all the ayre she suckt in, were impure.
In this darke mist of error with a cleare
Vnspotted light, thy vertue did appeare
T' obrayd corrupted man. How could the rage
Of untam'd lust have scorcht decrepit age;
Had it seene thy chast youth? Who could the wealth
Of time have spent in ryot, or his health
By surfeits forfeited; if he had seene
What temperance had in thy dyet beene?
What glorious foole had vaunted honours bought
By gold or practise, or by rapin brought
From his fore-fathers, had he understood
How Talbot valued not his owne great blood!
Had Politicians seene him scorning more
The unsafe pompe of greatnesse, then the poore
Thatcht roofes of shepheards, where th' unruly wind
(A gentler storme than pride) uncheckt doth find
Still free admittance: their pale labors had
Beene to be good, not to be great and bad.
But he is lost in a blind vault, and we
Must not admire though sinnes now frequent be
And uncontrol'd: Since those faire tables where
The Law was writ by death now broken are,
By death extinguisht is that Star, whose light
Did shine so faithfull: that each ship sayl'd right
Which steer'd by that. Nor marvell then if we,
(That failing) lost in this worlds tempest be.
But to what Orbe so ere thou dost retyre,
Far from our ken: tis blest, while by thy fire
Enlighten'd. And since thou must never here
Be seene againe: may I ore-take thee there.