Ben Jonson

  U  N  D  E  R  W  O  O  D  S .



I have my piety too, which, could
It vent 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 CORBET, 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 sweetning 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 odor thence !
And add his actions unto these,
They were as specious as his trees.
'Tis true, he could not reprehend —
His very manners taught t' 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 !


Jonson, Ben.  The Works of Ben Jonson.
Boston: Phillips, Sampson, and Co., 1853. 814.

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