Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS (1), by RICHARD CRASHAW


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS (1), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Death, what dost? O hold thy blow
Last Line: All her births abortive prove.
Subject(s): Herrys, William (d. 1631)


Death, what dost? o hold thy Blow,
What thou dost, thou dost not know.
Death thou must not here be cruell,
This is Natures choycest Jewell.
This is hee in whose rare frame,
Nature labour'd for a Name,
And meant to leave his pretious feature,
The patterne of a perfect Creature.
Joy of Goodnesse, Love of Art,
Vertue weares him next her heart.
Him the Muses love to follow,
Him they call their vice-Apollo.
Apollo golden though thou bee,
Th'art not fairer then is hee.
Nor more lovely lift'st thy head,
Blushing from thine Easterne Bed.
The Gloryes of thy youth ne're knew,
Brighter hopes then he can shew.
Why then should it e're be seene,
That his should fade, while thine is Greene?
And wilt Thou, (o cruell boast!)
Put poore Nature to such cost?
O 'twill undoe our common Mother,
To be at charge of such another.
What? thinke we to no other end,
Gracious Heavens do use to send
Earth her best perfection,
But to vanish and be gone?
Therefore onely give to day,
To morrow to be snatcht away?
I've seen indeed the hopefull bud,
Of a ruddy Rose that stood
Blushing, to behold the Ray
Of the new-saluted Day;
(His tender toppe not fully spread)
The sweet dash of a shower now shead,
Invited him no more to hide
Within himselfe the purple pride
Of his forward flower, when lo
While he sweetly 'gan to show
His swelling Gloryes, Auster spide him,
Cruell Auster thither hy'd him,
And with the rush of one rude blast,
Sham'd not spitefully to wast
All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet,
And lay them trembling at his feet.
I've seene the Mornings lovely Ray,
Hover o're the new-borne Day:
With rosie wings so richly Bright,
As if he scorn'd to thinke of Night,
When a ruddy storme whose scoule,
Made Heavens radiant face looke foule;
Call'd for an untimely Night,
To blot the newly blossom'd Light.
But were the Roses blush so rare,
Were the Mornings smile so faire
As is he, nor cloud, nor wind
But would be courteous, would be kind.
Spare him Death, o spare him then,
Spare the sweetest among men.
Let not pitty with her Teares,
Keepe such distance from thine Eares.
But o thou wilt not, canst not spare,
Haste hath never time to heare.
Therefore if hee needs must go,
And the Fates will have it so,
Softly may he be possest,
Of his monumentall rest.
Safe, thou darke home of the dead,
Safe o hide his loved head.
Keepe him close, close in thine armes,
Seal'd up with a thousand charmes.
For pitties sake o hide him quite,
From his Mother Natures sight:
Lest for Griefe his losse may move,
All her Births abortive prove.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


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