Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE DEATH OF MR. JORDAN, MASTER AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE DEATH OF MR. JORDAN, MASTER AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hence, and make room for me, all you who come
Last Line: For what I ow'd his life, I'll pay his grave.
Subject(s): Teaching & Teachers; Educators; Professors


HEnce, and make room for me, all you who come
Onely to read the Epitaph on this Tombe.
Here lies the Master of my tender Years,
The Guardian of my Parents' Hope and Fears;
Whose Government ne're stood me in a Teare;
All weeping was reserved to spend it here.
Come hither, all who his rare virtues knew,
And mourn with Me; he was your Tutor too.
Let's joyn our Sighes, 'till they fly far, and shew
His native Belgia what she's now to doe.
The League of grief bids her with us lament;
By her he was brought forth, and hither sent
In payment of all Men we there had lost,
And all the English Blood those wars have cost.
Wisely did Nature this learn'd Man divide;
His Birth was Theirs, his Death the mournful pride
Of England; and t' avoid the envious strife
Of other Lands, all Europe had his Life,
But we in chief; our Countrey soon was grown
A Debter more to Him, then He t' his Own.
He pluckt from youth the follies and the crimes,
And built up Men against the future times.
For deeds of Age are in their Causes then,
And though he taught but Boys, he made the Men.
Hence 'twas, a Master in those ancient dayes,
When Men sought Knowledge first, and by it Praise,
Was a thing full of Reverence, Profit, Fame;
Father it self was but a Second Name.
He scorn'd the profit; his Instructions all
Were like the Science, Free and Liberal.
He deserv'd Honors, but despised them too
As much as those who have them, others do.
He knew not that which Complement they call;
Could Flatter none, but Himself least of all.
So true, so faithful, and so just, as he
Was nought on Earth, but his own Memorie.
His Memory, where all things written were
As sure and fixt as in Fate's Books they are.
Thus he in Arts so vast a treasure gain'd,
Whilst still the Use came in, and Stock remain'd.
And having purchas'd all that man can know,
He labor'd with't to enrich others now.
Did thus a new and harder task sustain,
Like those that work in Mines for others' gain.
He, though more nobly, had much more to do;
To search the Vein, dig, purge, and mint it too.
Though my Excuse would be, I must confess,
Much better, had his Diligence been less.
But if a Muse hereafter smile on me,
And say, Be thou a Poet, Men shall see
That none could a more grateful Scholar have;
For what I ow'd his Life, I'll pay his Grave.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net