All minerals (that Earths full wombe doth hold Promiscuously) thou couldst convert to gold, And with thy flaming raptures so refine, 35 That it was much more pure then in the Mine. The lights that guild the night, if thou did'st say, They looke like eyes, those did out-shine the day; For there would be more vertue in such spells, Then in Meridians, or crosse Parallels: 40 What ever was of worth in this great Frame, That Art could comprehend, or Wit could name, It was thy theme for Beauty; thou didst see, Woman, was this faire Worlds Epitomie. Thy nimble _Satyres_ too, and every straine 45 (With nervy strength) that issued from thy brain, Will lose the glory of their owne cleare bayes, If they admit of any others praise. But thy diviner Poëms (whose cleare fire Purges all drosse away) shall by a Quire 50 Of Cherubims, with heavenly Notes be set (Where flesh and blood could ne'r attaine to yet) There purest Spirits sing such sacred Layes, In Panegyrique Alleluiaes. _Arth. Wilson._ _In memory of Doctor Donne: By M^{r} R. B._ _Donne_ dead? 'Tis here reported true, though I Ne'r yet so much desir'd to heare a lye, 'Tis too too true, for so wee finde it still, Good newes are often false, but seldome, ill: But must poore fame tell us his fatall day, 5 And shall we know his death, the common way, Mee thinkes some Comet bright should have foretold The death of such a man, for though of old 'Tis held, that Comets Princes death foretell, Why should not his, have needed one as well? 10 Who was the Prince of wits, 'mongst whom he reign'd, High as a Prince, and as great State maintain'd? Yet wants he not his signe, for wee have seene A dearth, the like to which hath never beene, Treading on harvests heeles, which doth presage 15 The death of wit and learning, which this age Shall finde, now he is gone; for though there bee Much graine in shew, none brought it forth as he, Or men are misers; or if true want raises The dearth, then more that dearth _Donnes_ plenty praises. 20 Of learning, languages, of eloquence, And Poësie, (past rauishing of sense,) He had a magazine, wherein such store Was laid up, as might hundreds serve of poore. But he is gone, O how will his desire 25 Torture all those that warm'd them by his fire? Mee thinkes I see him in the pulpit standing, Not eares, or eyes, but all mens hearts commanding, Where wee that heard him, to our selves did faine Golden Chrysostome was alive againe; 30 And never were we weari'd, till we saw His houre (and but an houre) to end did draw. How did he shame the doctrine-men, and use, With helps to boot, for men to beare th'abuse