Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A FRIEND, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A FRIEND, by                
First Line: Dear name, & dearer thing! To thee
Last Line: Inseparably linked are to thee.
Subject(s): Friendship; God; Worship

DEAR Name, & dearer Thing! to Thee
How dull & coarse all Jewells be!
Though I to them can love maintain,
Yet they can not love Me again;
Cold stones are sparkling, They,
But Thou of fire of Life dost make thy Ray.


The kindest Gemm wch me can grace
Must be beholden for a place
Upon my open Ring or Breast,
As being nothing yf supprest:
But through & through my Hart
Thy hidden Riches Thou canst cleerly dart.


To sett Thee off there dost Thou finde
A Foil, alas, more black & blinde
Then any Night which ever yet
On back of pretious Stone was sett;
And though Thou needst it not,
Art riveted into an hideous Blott.


All other Blotts farr purer are
Then Snow, yf they with sinn compare:
But Thou art Neer as deerest Heavn
By which Thou unto Earth art given.
Thus other Gemms confess
By their sweet Light, that Phebus them did dress.


O could our greedy World but read
The value of a Friend indeed;
No India's should be raked more,
No Deeps imbowelled of their Store:
All Voyages should be
Made to no other Port but Amitie:


The onely Port where We can finde
Safe harbour from that furious Winde
Of treacherous Fortune; She whoe ranges
About ye World with Storms of Changes,
And with her sudden shocks
Dashes Prosperitie upon Sorrows Rocks.


Why dost Thou goe ye way about
Vain Man, to finde some Treasure out?
'Tis not at Cittie, nor at Court,
At neighbour or at forrein Port,
Where Thou canst surely finde
Thy Hopes, though long & strong, crownd to thy minde.


O take ye nearest Cutt; goe trade
To gain a Friend, & thou hast made
A better merket farr then they
Whoe make returns of glittering Clay,
Which ever was & must
Be subject unto Envie, Theivs, & Rust.


Hast Thou a Friend? oh hold him fast
As thine own Soule, & know thou hast
A Prize, which, as most Kings desire,
Few are so blest as to acquire.
Greatnes may Flatterers gain,
But Friends scorn to be drawn by such a Chain.


Hast thou a Friend? whate'r thou hast,
Thou hast compleatly double: cast
Up thy account no more for One,
Thy scant Identitie is gone:
Thou art thy Friend, & He
By mutuall Faith transanimates with Thee.


That life he leads in Thee, to Him
More pretious then his own doth seem;
His own he freely will resigne
So he may still be sure of thine;
Death onely makes him live
When he, by dying, Life to Thee doth give.


Joys loose to Him their Name & Taste
But when with Him thy share Thou hast:
Whenever Thou receiv'st a Wound,
He feels as deep ye strokes rebound,
And claimeth as his right
The moietie of thy disastrous plight.


Though all ye World upon Thee frown,
He counts Thee still no less his own:
'Tis not thy Fortune, though as high
As is a Crowns brave Majestie,
But 'tis thy self alone
Which knitts him to thee in Loves Union.


Of Virtu's genuine Faithfullnes
True Loves pure Cement tempered is;
A Cement that disdains to feel
Times teeth, which triumph over Steel,
Or suffer any Harme
From angrie Fortune's most outrageous Storm.


Parentall Kindenes cold may grow
And Filial Dutie cease to glow;
Ev'n Matrimoniall Fervour may
Be chill & faint & die away;
But Friendship's resolute Heat
In Loyaltie's eternall Pulse doth beat.


Tell all things else by thy slight Eye
Thou scornst their glozing Treacherie;
But, next to thy Devotions, spend
Thy holyest Powers upon thy Friend:
None but thy God, & He
Inseparably linked are to Thee.

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