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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419892" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Upon the Death of Lord Hastings</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Must noble Hastings immaturely die, <br>The honour of his ancient family, <br>Beauty and learning thus together meet, <br>To bring a winding for a wedding sheet? <br>Must virtue prove death's harbinger? must she, <br>With him expiring, feel mortality? <br>Is death, sin's wages, grace's now? shall art <br>Make us more learned, only to depart? <br>If merit be disease; if virtue, death; <br>To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath <br>Himself to discipline? who'd not esteem <br>Labour a crime? study self-murder deem? <br>Our noble youth now have pretence to be <br>Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully. <br>Rare linguist, whose worth speaks itself, whose praise, <br>Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise: <br>Than whom great Alexander may seem less, <br>Who conquered men, but not their languages. <br>In his mouth nations speak; his tongue might be <br>Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy. <br>His native soil was the four parts o' the earth; <br>All Europe was too narrow for his birth. <br>A young apostle; and,—with reverence may <br>I speak 't,—inspired with gift of tongues, as they. <br>Nature gave him, a child, what men in vain <br>Oft strive, by art though furthered, to obtain. <br>His body was an orb, his sublime soul <br>Did move on virtue's and on learning's pole; <br>Whose regular motions better to our view, <br>Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did shew. <br>Graces and virtues, languages and arts, <br>Beauty and learning, filled up all the parts. <br>Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear <br>Scattered in others, all, as in their sphere, <br>Were fixed, and conglobate in's soul, and thence <br>Shone through his body, with sweet influence; <br>Letting their glories so on each limb fall, <br>The whole frame rendered was celestial. <br>Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make, <br>If thou this hero's altitude can'st take: <br>But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all, <br>Could we but prove thus astronomical. <br>Lived Tycho now, struck with this ray which shone <br>More bright i' the morn, than others beam at noon, <br>He'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here <br>What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere. <br>Replenished then with such rare gifts as these, <br>Where was room left for such a foul disease? <br>The nation's sin hath drawn that veil, which shrouds <br>Our day-spring in so sad benighting clouds. <br>Heaven would no longer trust its pledge, but thus <br>Recalled it,—rapt its Ganymede from us. <br>Was there no milder way but the small-pox, <br>The very filthiness of Pandora's box? <br>So many spots, like næves, our Venus soil? <br>One jewel set off with so many a foil; <br>Blisters with pride swelled, which through's flesh did sprout <br>Like rosebuds, stuck i' the lily-skin about. <br>Each little pimple had a tear in it, <br>To wail the fault its rising did commit; <br>Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife, <br>Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life. <br>Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, <br>The cabinet of a richer soul within? <br>No comet need foretell his change drew on, <br>Whose corpse might seem a constellation. <br>Oh had he died of old, how great a strife <br>Had been, who from his death should draw their life; <br>Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er <br>Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were! <br>Learned, virtuous, pious, great; and have by this <br>An universal metempsychosis. <br>Must all these aged sires in one funeral <br>Expire? all die in one so young, so small? <br>Who, had he lived his life out, his great fame <br>Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Roman name. <br>But hasty winter, with one blast, hath brought <br>The hopes of autumn, summer, spring, to nought. <br>Thus fades the oak i' the sprig, i' the blade the corn; <br>Thus without young, this Phœnix dies, newborn. <br>Must then old three-legged grey-beards with their gout, <br>Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three ages out? <br>Time's offals, only fit for the hospital! <br>Or to hang an antiquary's rooms withal! <br>Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live <br>With such helps as broths, possets, physic give? <br>None live, but such as should die? shall we meet <br>With none but ghostly fathers in the street? <br>Grief makes me rail, sorrow will force its way, <br>And showers of tears tempestuous sighs best lay. <br>The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes <br>Will weep out lasting streams of elegies. <br>But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone, <br>Now thy beloved, heaven-ravished spouse is gone, <br>Whose skilful sire in vain strove to apply <br>Med'cines, when thy balm was no remedy; <br>With greater than Platonic love, O wed <br>His soul, though not his body, to thy bed: <br>Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth <br>The ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth; <br>Transcribe the original in new copies; give <br>Hastings o' the better part: so shall he live <br>In's nobler half; and the great grandsire be <br>Of an heroic divine progeny: <br>An issue which to eternity shall last, <br>Yet but the irradiations which he cast. <br>Erect no mausoleums; for his best <br>Monument is his spouse's marble breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419892" data-title="Upon the Death of Lord Hastings de John Dryden" data-description="Must noble Hastings immaturely die, The honour of his ancient family, Beauty and learning thus together meet, To bring a winding for a wedding sheet? Must virtue prove death's harbinger? must she, With him expiring, feel mortality? Is death,..."></div> </div> </div>
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