AN ODE TO MASTER ENDYMION PORTER, UPON HIS BROTHER'S DEATH. by Robert Herrick
NOT all thy flushing suns are set,                            Herrick, as yet ;        Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere        Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest              As dead within the west ; Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.        Alas ! for me, that I have lost                            E'en all almost ;        Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,        And all the loom of life undone : The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall              Whereon my vine did crawl, Now, now blown down ; needs must the old stock fall.        Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive,                            In death I thrive :        And like a phoenix re-aspire        From out my nard and fun'ral fire ; And as I prune my feathered youth, so I              Do mar'l how I could die When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.        I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand                            Which makes me stand        Now as I do, and but for thee        I must confess I could not be. The debt is paid ; for he who doth resign              Thanks to the gen'rous vine Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine. Mar'l, marvel.		Van Dyck. Sir Endymion Porter and the Artist. 1632-41. [det.] * “The friend and patron of poets    and artists, Porter was a protégé    of Charles I's favourite, the Duke    of Buckingham. He was instru-    mental in bringing Van Dyck to    England and the King admired    him 'for his general learning,    brave stile, sweet temper, great    experience, travels and modern    languages'.” —National Portrait Gallery.

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