Poet William Strode

William Strode

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On The Death Of Sir Thomas Lea Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCCCDDEEEEEEDDEEFF CCGGFFHICCCCJJKELLCC EE CCKEMINNEECC

You that affright with lamentable notesA
The servants from their beef whose hungry throatsA
Vex the grume porter's surly conscienceB
That blesse the mint for coyning lesse than penceC
You whose unknown and meanly payd desartsC
Begge silently within and knocke at heartsC
You whose commanding worth makes men beleeveD
That you a kindnesse give when you receaveD
All sorts of them that want your tears now lendE
A House keeper a Patron and a FriendE
Is lodged in clay The man whose table feddeE
So many while he lived since hee is deadE
Himselfe is turn'd to food whose chimney burn'dE
So freely then is now to ashes turn'dE
The man which life unto the Muses gaveD
Seeks life of them a lasting EpitaphD
And hee from whose esteeme all vertues foundE
A just reward now prostrate in the groundE
Like some huge ancient oake that ere it fellF
Could not be measur'd by the rule so wellF
Desires a faythfull comment on his dayesC
Such as shall neither lye to wrong or prayseC
But oh what Muse is halfe so pure so strongG
What marble sheets can keepe his name so longG
As onely hee hath lived then who can tellF
A perfect story of his living wellF
The noble fire that spur'd and whetted onH
His bravely vertuous resolutionI
Could not so soone be quencht as weaker soulesC
Whose feebler sparke an ach or thought controulsC
His life burnt to the snuffe a snuffe that needsC
No socket to conceale the stench but feedsC
Our sence like costly fumes his manly breathJ
Felt no disease but age and call'd for DeathJ
Before it durst intrude or thought to tryK
That strength of limbs that soules integrityE
Looke on his silver hayres his graceful broweL
And Gravity itselfe might Lea avoweL
Her father Time his schoolmate Fifty yearsC
Once wedlocke he embrac't a date that bearsC
Fayre scope if Soule and Body chance to beeE
So long a couple as his wife and heeE
-
-
But number you his deeds they so outpasseC
The largest size of any mortal glasseC
That though hee liv'd a thousand some would cryeK
Alas he dyde in his minorityE
His dayes and deeds would nere be counted evenM
Without Eternity which now is givenI
Such descants poore men make who miss him moreN
Than sixe great men that keeping house beforeN
After a spurt unconstantly are fleddE
Away to London But the man that's deadE
Is gone unto a place more populousC
And tarries longer there and waites for usC

William Strode



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