Burton's Anatomy, by Andrew Lang

A quaint old store of learning lies
      In Burton's pleasant pages,
With long quotations that comprise
      The wisdom of the ages.
'Tis strange to read him 'mid the crowd
      And modern hurly-burly;
The only author Johnson vowed
      Could make him get up early.

He lived a solitary life,
      He said "Mihi et musis,"
And put his rest from worldly strife
      To very pleasant uses.
He wrote the book wherein we find
      "All joys to this are folly,"
And naught to the reflective mind
      "So sweet as melancholy."

How strangely he dissects his theme
      In manner anatomic;
He's earnest at one time, you deem,
      Now decorously comic.
And most prodigiously he quotes,
      With learning quite gigantic,
Or telling classic anecdotes,
      Is pleasantly pedantic.

There's sterling sense in every page,
      And shrewdest cogitation;
Your keen attention he'll engage,
      And honest admiration.
If any man should vow to live
      With but one book, be certain
To him could friendly fortune give
      No better book than Burton.

He lies in rest at Christ's Church aisle,
      With all his erudition;
The hieroglyphics make one smile,
      That show his superstition.
His epitaph survives to-day,
      As one "Cui vitam dedit
Et mortem Melancholia,"
      So he himself has said it.

From Book Lovers' Verse, Being Songs of Books and Bookmen Compiled from English and American Authors, by Howard S. Ruddy; The Bowen-Merrill Co., Indianapolis, 1899.

The Burton in Burton's Anatomy is Robert Burton (1577–1640), an English scholar and vicar at Oxford University. His well-known "The Anatomy of Melancholy" is likely the inspiration for Andrew Lang's choice of title for his poem above.



Andrew Lang (1844-1912) was a prolific Scottish writer: Poet, novelist, literary critic, and contributor to anthropology. He is well-known for collecting folk tales and fairy tales.