Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THAT COMPLETE AND NOBLE KNIGHT SIR KENELLAM DIGBY, by RANDOLPH THOMAS



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THAT COMPLETE AND NOBLE KNIGHT SIR KENELLAM DIGBY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sir, when I look on you, methinks I see
Last Line: You'll let her ivy wait upon your bays.
Subject(s): Digby, Sir Kenelm (1603-1665); Plays & Playwrights


SIR, when I look on you, methinks I see
To the full height how perfect man may be.
Sure all the arts did court you, and you were
So courteous as to give to each their share.
While we lie lock'd in darkness, night and day
Wasting our fruitless oil and time away:
Perchance for skill in grammar, and to know
Whether this word be thus declin'd, or no.
Another cheats himself, perchance to be
A pretty youth, forsooth, in fallacy.
This on arithmetic doth hourly lie,
To learn the first great blessing, multiply,
That travels in geometry, and tires,
And he above the world a map admires.
This dotes on music's most harmonious chime,
And studying how to keep it, loses time.
One turns o'er histories, and he can show
All that has been, but knows not what is now.
Many in physic labour; most of these
Lose health to know the name of a disease.
Some (too high wise) are gazing at a star,
And if they call it by his name, they are
In heaven already; and another one
That cries Melpomene, and drinks Helicon,
At poetry throws wit and wealth away,
And makes it all his work to write a play.
Nay, on Divinity many spend their powers,
That scarce learn anything, but to stand two hours.
How must we, sir, admire you then, that know
All arts, and all the best of these can show!
For your deep skill in State, I cannot say;
My knowledge there is only to obey.
But I believe 'tis known to our best peers,
Amaz'd to see a Nestor at your years.
Mars claims you, too: witness the galleon
That felt your thunderbolts at Scanderon,
When Neptune frighted let his trident fall,
And bid his waves call you their general.
How many men might you divide your store
Of virtues to, and yet not leave you poor,
Though enrich them! Stay here. How dare I then
To such an able judgment show my pen?
But 'tis, sir, from a muse that humbly prays,
You'll let her ivy wait upon your bays.





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