This is confest presumption; for had I
All that rich stock of ingenuity
Which I could wish for this, yet it would be
Palaemon's blot; a pious injury.
But as no votarys are scorn'd when they
The meanest victim in religion pay;
Not that the power they worship needs a gum,
But that they speak their thanks for all with some:
So though the most contemptible of all
That doe themselves Palemon's servants call,
I know that Zeale is more then sacrifise,
(For God did not the widdow's mite despise)
And that Palemon hath divinity,
And mercy is his highest property.
He that doth such transcendent merit own,
Must have imperfect offerings, or none
Hee's one rich Lustre, which doth rays dispence,
As knowledge will when set in innocence.
For Learning did select his noble brest,
Where in her native Majesty to rest;
Free from the tyrranny and pride of Schooles,
Who had confin'd her to pedantique rules;
And that Gentiler errour which doth take
Offence at learning for her habit's sake:
Palaemon hath redeem'd her, who may be
Esteem'd himself an University;
And yet so much a Gentleman, that he
Needs not (though he enjoys) a pedigree.
Sure he was built and sent to let us know
What man compleated can both be and doe
Freedome from vice is in him nature's part,
Without the help of discipline or art.
Hee's his own happiness and his own Law,
Whereby he keeps Passion and fate in aw;
Nor was this wrought in him by time or growth,
His Genius had anticipated both
Had all been like Palaemon, pride had ne're
Taught one man tyrranny, and t'other feare
Ambition had been full as monstrous then
As this dull world doth render worthy men.
Had men his Spirit, they would soone forbeare
Groveling for dirt, and quarrelling for Ayre
Were his harmonious Soule diffus'd in all,
We should believe that man did never fall.
It is Palemon's Soule which hath engrost
The ingenious candour that the world hath lost;
Whose own mind seats him quiet, safe and high,
Above the reach of time or destiny.
'Twas he that rescu'd gasping friendship when
The bell toll'd for her funerall with men:
'Twas he that made friends more then lovers burn,
And then made Love to sacred friendship turn:
'Twas he turn'd honour inward, set her free
From titles and from popularity.
Now fixt to vertue, she begs praise of none,
Is witness'd and rewarded both at home;
And in his brest this honour's so enshrined,
As the old Law was in the Ark confin'd:
To which posterity shall all consent,
And less dispute then acts of Parliament.
Hee's our originall, by whom we see
How much we faile, and what we ought to be
But why doe I to coppy him pretend?
My Rimes but libell whom they would commend.
'Tis true, but none can reach what's set so high;
And though I misse, I've noble company:
For the most happy Language must confess,
It doth obscure Palemon, not express.