A _Crowne of sacred sonets_, fit to adorne 35 A dying Martyrs brow: or, to be worne On that blest head of _Mary Magdalen_: After she wip'd Christs feet, but not till then? Did hee (fit for such penitents as shee And hee to use) leave us a _Litany_? 40 Which all devout men love, and sure, it shall, As times grow better, grow more classicall. Did he write _Hymnes_, for piety and wit Equall to those great grave _Prudentius_ writ? Spake he all _Languages_? knew he all _Lawes_? 45 The grounds and use of _Physicke_; but because 'Twas mercenary wav'd it? Went to see That blessed place of _Christs nativity_? Did he returne and preach him? preach him so As none but hee did, or could do? They know 50 (Such as were blest to heare him know) 'tis truth. Did he confirme thy age? convert thy youth? Did he these wonders? And is this deare losse Mourn'd by so few? (few for so great a crosse.) But sure the silent are ambitious all 55 To be _Close Mourners_ at his Funerall; If not; In common pitty they forbare By repetitions to renew our care; Or, knowing, griefe conceiv'd, conceal'd, consumes Man irreparably, (as poyson'd fumes 60 Do waste the braine) make silence a safe way To'inlarge the Soule from these walls, mud and clay, (Materialls of this body) to remaine With _Donne_ in heaven, where no promiscuous paine Lessens the joy wee have, for, with _him_, all 65 Are satisfyed with _joyes essentiall_. My thoughts, Dwell on this _Ioy_, and do not call Griefe backe, by thinking of his Funerall; Forget he lov'd mee; Waste not my sad yeares; (Which haste to _Davids_ seventy, fill'd with feares 70 And sorrow for his death;) Forget his parts, Which finde a living grave in good mens hearts; And, (for, my first is daily paid for sinne) Forget to pay my second sigh for him: Forget his powerfull preaching; and forget 75 I am his _Convert_. Oh my frailtie! let My flesh be no more heard, it will obtrude This lethargie: so should my gratitude, My vowes of gratitude should so be broke; Which can no more be, then _Donnes_ vertues spoke 80 By any but himselfe; for which cause, I Write no _Encomium_, but an _Elegie_. IZ. WA. [An Elegie _&c._ _See note_] [1-3 Our Donne is dead; England should mourne, may say We had a man where language chose to stay And shew her gracefull power _1635-69_ ] [35 _Crowne_] Crowme _1633_] An Elegie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls, D^r. Iohn Donne: By _M^r. Tho: Carie_.