Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE DEATH OF THE EMINENTLY ENOBLED CHARLES CAPELL, ESQ., by THOMAS FLATMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE DEATH OF THE EMINENTLY ENOBLED CHARLES CAPELL, ESQ., by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Shower down your ponderus tears, whoe'er you be
Last Line: I'd ne'er believe so bright a star could fall.
Subject(s): Small Pox


Who, after he had honour'd Winton College with his Education, and accomplisht
himself with a voyage into France, died of the small-pox at London last
Christmas, 1656.
SHOWER down your ponderous tears, whoe'er you be
Dare write, or read, a Capell's elegy;
Spangle his hearse with pearls, such as were born
'Twixt the blear'd eyelids of an o'ercast morn;
And (but 'tis vain t' expostulate with Death
Or vilify the Fates with frustrate breath)
Pose Destiny with why's -- why such a sun
Should set before his noontide stage were run?
Why this fair volume should be bound so fast
In wooden covers, clasp'd-up in such haste?
Was Nature fond of its large character
And those divine impressions graven there?
Did she, lest we should spoil 't (to waive that sin),
'Cause 'twas the best edition, call it in?
Or would our vaunting Isle, that saints should see
Th' utmost of all our prodigality,
Fearing some detriment by long delay,
Send Heav'n a new-year's-gift before the day?
No: th' empyrean Philomels could sing,
Without his voice, no carols to their King.
England's Metropolis (for 'twas in thee
He died) we re-baptize thee Calvary,
The Charnel-house of Gallantry; henceforth
We brand thy front with -- Golgotha of Worth.
Had he been swallow'd in that courteous deep
He travell'd o'er, he had been lull'd asleep
In th' amorous Sea-nymphs' stately arms at ease;
His great name would imposthumate the seas,
That, when the waves should swell and tempests rise
(Strong waters challenging the dastard skies),
Poor shipwrackt mariners, remembering him,
Should court his asterism, and cease to swim;
Abjure the Fatal Brothers' glow-worm fires,
And dart at him their languishing desires.
Had France intomb'd him (what our land forbids)
Nature had rear'd him stately pyramids
The lofty Alps, where it had been most meet
Their harmless snow should be his winding-sheet;
That alablaster-coverture might be
An emblem of his native purity:
Had he fal'n there, it had been true perchance,
Wickham's Third College might be found in France.
But he return'd from thence, curb'd Neptune's pride,
And, to our fame and grief, came home, and died.
Thus, when the Heav'n has wheel'd its daily race
About our earth, at night its glorious face
Is pox'd with stars, yet Heaven admits no blot,
And every pimple there's a beauty-spot.
Short-liv'd disease, that canst be cured and gone
By one sweet morning's resurrection!
Adieu, great sir, whose total he that will
Describe in folio needs a cherub's quill.
Zealous posterity your tomb shall stir,
Hoard up your dust, rifle your sepulchre,
And (as the Turks did Scanderbeg's of old)
Shall wear your bones in amulets of gold.
-- But my blasphemous pen profanes his glory;
I'll say but this to all his tragic story:
Were not the world well-nigh its funeral
I'd ne'er believe so bright a star could fall.





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