To My Dead Friend Ben Johnson Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEEEFEGGHHII JJKKLLEEMMNNOOMMPPEE PPQQEERRPPDDRREERRFR| I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm | A |
| 'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder is no charm | A |
| To keep off deaths pale dart For Johnson then | B |
| Thou hadst been number'd still with living men | B |
| Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade | C |
| Nor thee this subject of our sorrow made | C |
| Amongst those many votaries who come | D |
| To offer up their Garlands at thy Tombe | D |
| Whil'st some more lofty pens in their bright verse | E |
| Like glorious Tapers flaming on thy herse | E |
| Shall light the dull and thankless world to see | E |
| How great a maim it suffers wanting thee | E |
| Let not thy learned shadow scorn that I | F |
| Pay meaner Rites unto thy memory | E |
| And since I nought can adde but in desire | G |
| Restore some sparks which leapt from thine own fire | G |
| What ends soever others quills invite | H |
| I can protest it was no itch to write | H |
| Nor any vain ambition to be read | I |
| But meerly Love and Justice to the dead | I |
| Which rais'd my fameless Muse and caus'd her bring | J |
| These drops as tribute thrown into that spring | J |
| To whose most rich and fruitful head we ow | K |
| The purest streams of language which can flow | K |
| For 'tis but truth thou taught'st the ruder age | L |
| To speake by Grammar and reform'dst the Stage | L |
| Thy Comick Sock induc'd such purged sence | E |
| A Lucrece might have heard without offence | E |
| Amongst those soaring wits that did dilate | M |
| Our English and advance it to the rate | M |
| And value it now holds thy self was one | N |
| Helpt lift it up to such proportion | N |
| That thus refin'd and roab'd it shall not spare | O |
| With the full Greek or Latine to compare | O |
| For what tongue ever durst but ours translate | M |
| Great Tully's Eloquence or Homers State | M |
| Both which in their unblemisht lustre shine | P |
| From Chapmans pen and from thy Catiline | P |
| All I would ask for thee in recompence | E |
| Of thy successful toyl and times expence | E |
| Is onely this poor Boon that those who can | P |
| Perhaps read French or talk Italian | P |
| Or do the lofty Spaniard affect | Q |
| To shew their skill in Forrein Dialect | Q |
| Prove not themselves so unnaturally wise | E |
| They therefore should their Mother tongue despise | E |
| As if her Poets both for style and wit | R |
| Not equall'd or not pass'd their best that writ | R |
| Untill by studying Johnson they have known | P |
| The height and strength and plenty of their own | P |
| Thus in what low earth or neglected room | D |
| Soere thou sleep'st thy book shall be thy tomb | D |
| Thou wilt go down a happy Coarse bestrew'd | R |
| With thine own Flowres and feel thy self renew'd | R |
| Whil'st thy immortal never with'ring Bayes | E |
| Shall yearly flourish in thy Readers praise | E |
| And when more spreading Titles are forgot | R |
| Or spight of all their Lead and Sear cloth rot | R |
| Thou wrapt and Shrin'd in thine own sheets wilt ly | F |
| A Relick fam'd by all Posterity | R |
Henry King
(1)
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