Classic Poem

GREAT Flame of English Poets gon! how shall
Wee strew our flowers, at thy Funerall?
What obsequies performe! What rites prepare
Unto thy Herse? what monument, but were
Too narrow to Containe Thee! or what State
But were beneath the honour of thy fate?
Noe, rather; wee (remaining of the Tribe,
Sad orphans) can but wish, what wee ascribe
Unto thy Merit; all wee bring to thee,
Is but our Tears; our filial Pietie.
Great Lord of Arts! and Father of the Age,
The first, and best Informer of the Stage!
How shall wee speake of him? what Numbers bring
T' empassionate? and worthy orgies Sing?
What shall wee Say? Shall wee in a Just Zeale
Rebuke the Age of Ignorane, and tell
Aloud his Merits? shall wee weepe, or boast
His worth? or Losse? shall wee say, when wee lost
Him, a sad Night of follie did orespread
This Iland, as wee see; and wee are dead
Rather then Hee wee weep for? for Hee, still
Lives to instruct the Age, with a Strong Quill.
And as he did, from Ignorance, reduce
Th' abused Stage; Soe has he left to us
(Who act upon this greater Theatre)
Grave morall Pandects; Strong, & yet soe Cleare
Hee is his owne Expositor; and wee
(If sottishly not blind or worse) may see
Vertue in Act; and everie gracefull Step
She treads may be our Path; but wee all Sleepe
Uncapable of what Hee taught; or how
To valew what Hee left us. I could bow
(And would the Age, might doo't without offence)
To name him, with a Modest Reverence;
For Shall wee kneele to Titles? and observe
Formalities? to those, who nought deserve
(More then their name, or painted outside give)
And shall My Lord, have a prerogative
For vertue in his Ancestors? (though hee
Perhaps the Shame, of all his Pedigree)
And our Great Lord of witt; where vertue in
Her Sphere did move; where Art and Judgment Shine,
Inseparable bee, with Common Men
And vulgar Mention names? Oh! the Pen
Of Witt, and Truth forbid it; rather let
The worthles present Age, his name forget;
For wee are Emulous fooles; and will admitt
Noe Rivalls, in the Claime wee lay to witt.
But After-Ages, (more Judicious,
Unswaied by Passion, only Sedulous
To honour vertue) shall, (I will not Doubt)
Advance his name; when the despised Rout
(His Scorne) shall perish, in the filthy Smoake
Of their owne Follies; then all Eyes shall looke
With Joy and Admiration, to receive
A Light their Fathers could not. I will leave
Only this little: Judgment shall Allow,
(When Men, have Eyes, to see; & witt to know
Who merit most) the greatest Eulogie
For Language, Art, and all Dexteritie
Of Witt, to Him; and happ'lie were the flame
Extinct, wee might recover't in his name:
A Charme soe stronge, Who ever shall reherse
Ben: Jonson, cannot chuse but make a verse.