Tom May's Death

1As one put drunk into the Packet-boat,

2Tom May was hurry'd hence and did not know't.

3But was amaz'd on the Elysian side,

4And with an Eye uncertain, gazing wide,

5Could not determine in what place he was,

6For whence in Stevens ally Trees or Grass.

7Nor where the Popes head, nor the Mitre lay,

8Signs by which still he found and lost his way.

9At last while doubtfully he all compares,

10He saw near hand, as he imagin'd Ares.

11Such did he seem for corpulence and port,

12But 'twas a man much of another sort;

13'Twas Ben that in the dusky Laurel shade

14Amongst the Chorus of old Poets laid,

15Sounding of ancient Heroes, such as were

16The Subjects Safety, and the Rebel's Fear.

17But how a double headed Vulture Eats,

18Brutus and Cassius the Peoples cheats.

19But seeing May he varied streight his song,

20Gently to signifie that he was wrong.

21Cups more then civil of Emilthian wine,

22I sing (said he) and the Pharsalian Sign,

23Where the Historian of the Common-wealth

24In his own Bowels sheath'd the conquering health.

25By this May to himself and them was come,

26He found he was tranflated, and by whom.

27Yet then with foot as stumbling as his tongue

28Prest for his place among the Learned throng.

29But Ben, who knew not neither foe nor friend,

30Sworn Enemy to all that do pretend,

31Rose more then ever he was seen severe,

32Shook his gray locks, and his own Bayes did tear

33At this intrusion. Then with Laurel wand,

34The awful Sign of his supream command.

35At whose dread Whisk Virgil himself does quake,

36And Horace patiently its stroke does take,

37As he crowds in he whipt him ore the pate

38Like Pembroke at the Masque, and then did rate.

39Far from these blessed shades tread back agen

40Most servil' wit, and Mercenary Pen.

41Polydore, Lucan, Allan, Vandale, Goth,

42Malignant Poet and Historian both.

43Go seek the novice Statesmen, and obtrude

44On them some Romane cast similitude,

45Tell them of Liberty, the Stories fine,

46Until you all grow Consuls in your wine.

47Or thou Dictator of the glass bestow

48On him the Cato, this the Cicero.

49Transferring old Rome hither in your talk,

50As Bethlem's House did to Loretto walk.

51Foul Architect that hadst not Eye to see

52How ill the measures of these States agree.

53And who by Romes example England lay,

54Those but to Lucan do continue May.

55But the nor Ignorance nor seeming good

56Misled, but malice fixt and understood.

57Because some one than thee more worthy weares

58The sacred Laurel, hence are all these teares?

59Must therefore all the World be set on flame,

60Because a Gazet writer mist his aim?

61And for a Tankard-bearing Muse must we

62As for the Basket Guelphs and Gibellines be?

63When the Sword glitters ore the Judges head,

64And fear has Coward Churchmen silenced,

65Then is the Poets time, 'tis then he drawes,

66And single fights forsaken Vertues cause.

67He, when the wheel of Empire, whirleth back,

68And though the World disjointed Axel crack,

69Sings still of ancient Rights and better Times,

70Seeks wretched good, arraigns successful Crimes.

71But thou base man first prostituted hast

72Our spotless knowledge and the studies chast.

73Apostatizing from our Arts and us,

74To turn the Chronicler to Spartacus.

75Yet wast thou taken hence with equal fate,

76Before thou couldst great Charles his death relate.

77But what will deeper wound thy little mind,

78Hast left surviving Davenant still behind

79Who laughs to see in this thy death renew'd,

80Right Romane poverty and gratitude.

81Poor Poet thou, and grateful Senate they,

82Who thy last Reckoning did so largely pay.

83And with the publick gravity would come,

84When thou hadst drunk thy last to lead thee home.

85If that can be thy home where Spencer lyes

86And reverend Chaucer, but their dust does rise

87Against thee, and expels thee from their side,

88As th' Eagles Plumes from other birds divide.

89Nor here thy shade must dwell, Return, Return,

90Where Sulphrey Phlegeton does ever burn.

91The Cerberus with all his Jawes shall gnash,

92Megera thee with all her Serpents lash.

93Thou rivited unto Ixion's wheel

94Shalt break, and the perpetual Vulture feel.

95'Tis just what Torments Poets ere did feign,

96Thou first Historically shouldst sustain.

97Thus by irrevocable Sentence cast,

98May only Master of these Revels past.

99And streight he vanisht in a Cloud of Pitch,

100Such as unto the Sabboth bears the Witch.