I will not weep, for 'twere as great a sin <br />To shed a tear for thee, as to have bin <br />An Actor in thy death. Thy life and age <br />Was but a various Scene on fortunes Stage, <br />With whom thou tugg'st & strov'st ev'n out of breath <br />In thy long toil: nere master'd till thy death; <br />And then despight of trains and cruell wit, <br />Thou did'st at once subdue malice and it. <br />I dare not then so blast thy memory <br />As say I do lament or pity thee. <br />Were I to choose a subject to bestow <br />My pity on, he should be one as low <br />In spirit as desert. That durst not dy <br />But rather were content by slavery <br />To purchase life: or I would pity those <br />Thy most industrious and friendly foes: <br />Who when they thought to make thee scandals story <br />Lent thee a swifter flight to Heav'n and glory. <br />That thought by cutting off some wither'd dayes, <br />(Which thou could'st spare them) to eclipse thy praise; <br />Yet gave it brighter foil, made thy ag'd fame <br />Appear more white and fair, then foul their shame: <br />And did promote an Execution <br />Which (but for them) Nature and Age had done. <br />Such worthless things as these were onely born <br />To live on Pities almes (too mean for scorn.) <br />Thou dy'dst an envious wonder, whose high fate <br />The world must still admire, scarce imitate.<br /><br />Henry King<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-elegy-upon-s-w-r/
