Classic Poem

Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus.

My Soule! When thou and I
Shall on our frighted death-bed lye;
Each moment watching when pale death
Shall snatch away our latest breath,
And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force
An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then? that art
My rationall and nobler part,
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try
To draw from weake Philosophie
Some strength: and flatter thy poore state,
'Cause tis the common fate?

How will thy spirits pant
And tremble when they feele the want
Of th' usuall organs; and that all
The vitall powers begin to fall?
When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,
Yet whether; who can know?

How fond and idle then
Will seeme the misteries of men?
How like some dull ill-acted part
The subtlest of proud humane art?
How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?

But how shall I (that is
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine;
And craving all the ayde of skill,
Finde none, but what must kill?

Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releefe,
I shall but meete despaire; for all
Will prophesie my funerall:
The very silence of the roome
Will represent a tombe.

And while my Childrens teares,
My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,
And councells of Divines advance
Death in each dolefull circumstance:
I shall even a sad mourner be
At my owne obsequie.

For by examples I
Must know that others sorrowes dye
Soone as our selves, and none survive
To keepe our memories alive.
Even our fals tombes, as loath to say
We once had life, decay.

Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus.

My Soule! When thou and I
Shall on our frighted death-bed lye;
Each moment watching when pale death
Shall snatch away our latest breath,
And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force
An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then? that art
My rationall and nobler part,
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try
To draw from weake Philosophie
Some strength: and flatter thy poore state,
'Cause tis the common fate?

How will thy spirits pant
And tremble when they feele the want
Of th' usuall organs; and that all
The vitall powers begin to fall?
When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,
Yet whether; who can know?

How fond and idle then
Will seeme the misteries of men?
How like some dull ill-acted part
The subtlest of proud humane art?
How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?

But how shall I (that is
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine;
And craving all the ayde of skill,
Finde none, but what must kill?

Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releefe,
I shall but meete despaire; for all
Will prophesie my funerall:
The very silence of the roome
Will represent a tombe.

And while my Childrens teares,
My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,
And councells of Divines advance
Death in each dolefull circumstance:
I shall even a sad mourner be
At my owne obsequie.

For by examples I
Must know that others sorrowes dye
Soone as our selves, and none survive
To keepe our memories alive.
Even our fals tombes, as loath to say
We once had life, decay.