Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET, by BEN JONSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I have my piety too, which could
Last Line: Who makes the one, so it be first, makes both.
Subject(s): Epitaphs


I have my piety too, which could
It vents itself but as it would,
Would say as much as both have done
Before me here, the friend and son;
For I both lost a friend and father,
Of him whose bones this grave doth gather:
Dear Vincent Corbett, who so long
Had wrestled with diseases strong
That though they did possess each limb,
Yet he broke them, ere they could him,
With the just canon of his life;
A life that knew nor noise nor strife,
But was, by sweetening so his will,
All order and disposure still.
His mind as pure, and neatly kept,
As were his nurseries, and swept
So of uncleanness or offence,
That never came ill odour thence;
And add his actions unto these,
They were as specious as his trees.
'Tis true, he could not reprehend;
His very manners taught to amend,
They were so even, grave, and holy;
No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly
To license ever was so light
As twice to trespass in his sight;
His looks would so correct it, when
It chid the vice, yet not the men.
Much from him I profess I won,
And more and more I should have done,
But that I understood him scant.
Now I conceive him by my want,
And pray, who shall my sorrows read,
That they for me their tears will shed;
For truly, since he left to be,
I feel I'm rather dead than he!
Reader, whose life and name did e'er become
An epitaph, deserved a tomb;
Nor wants it here, through penury or sloth;
Who makes the one, so it be first, makes both.





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