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Pure clinches the suburban muse affords,
Let 'em be all by thy own model made And Pantoni waging harmless war with words. Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid ; Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well-known, That they to future ages may be known, Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne :
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. For ancient Dekker prophesied, long since,
Nay, let thy men of wit, too, be the same, That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, All full of thee, and diff?ring but in name. Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense ;
But let no alien Sedley interpose, To whom true dulness should some Psyches owe; To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.l But worlds of misers from his pen should flow; And, when false flowers of rhet'ric thou wouldst cull, Humorists and hypocrites it should produce;
Trust nature, do not labour to be dull; Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce.2 But write thy best, and top; and, in each line,
Now empress Fame had publish'd the renown Sir Formal's oratory will be thine : Of Shadwell's coronation through the town.
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill, Rous'd by report of Fame, the nations meet,
And does thy northern dedications fill.
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.
Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise, Bilk'd stationers for yeomen stood prepar'd,
And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise. And Herringman' was captain of the guard.
Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part: The hoary prince in majesty appear'd,
What share have we in nature or in art ! High on a throne of his own labours rear'd.
Where did his wit on learning fix a brand, At his right hand our young Ascanius sat,
And rail at arts he did not understand ! Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state;
Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein, His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace,
Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain ? And lambent dulness play'd around his face.
When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin, As Hannibal did to the altars come,
As thou whole Etherege dost transfuse to thine ! Sworn by bis sire a mortal foe to Rome,
But so transfusd as oil and waters flow;
By which one way to dulness 'tis inclin'd;
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still, In his sinister hand, instead of ball,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will. He placed a mighty mug of potent ale;
Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence 'Love's Kingdom'4 to his right he did convey Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense. At once his sceptre and his rule of sway;
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ; Whose righteous lore the prince had practis'd young, But sure thou’rt but a kilderkin of wit. And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung:
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep; His temples last with poppies were o'erspread, Thy tragic muse gives smiles; thy comic, sleep. That, nodding, seem'd to consecrate his head.
With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write, Just at the point of time, if fame not lie,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite. On his left hand twelve rev'rend owls did fly.
In thy felonious heart, though venom lies, So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook,
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command The fire then shook the honours of his head,
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. And from his brows damps of oblivion shed
There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, Full on the filial dulness : long he stood,
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. Repelling from his breast the raging god;
Or, if thou wouldst thy diff'rent talents suit, At length burst out in this prophetic mood :
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.' Heav'n bless my son, from Ireland let him reign, He said: but his last words were scarcely heard ; To far Barbadoes on the western main;
For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepar'd; Of his dominion may no end be known,
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard. And greater than his father's be his throne;
Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind, Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his pen!' Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. He paus'd; and all the people cried, Amen.
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art.
The Hind and Panther.
A milk-white hind, immortal and unchang'd,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd; Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage,
Without, unspotted ; innocent, within ; Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage :
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin: Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling,5 charm the pit,
Yet had she oft been chas'd with horns and hounds, And, in their folly, show the writer's wit.
And Scythian shafts, and many winged wounds Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence,
Aim'd at her heart; was often forc'd to fly, And justify their author's want of sense.
And doom'd to death, though fated not to die. TA well-known punster.
1 Sir Charles Sodley was understood to have assisted Shad& Characters in Shadwell's dramas. 8 A dramatic publisher. well in his play of Epsom Wells.'
4. Love's Kingdom' is the name of a pastoral drama by | Two of the characters in Shadwell's Virtuoso,' who play a Richard Flecknoe.
trick on Sir Formal Trifle by means of a trap-door. The conCharacters in Sir George Etherege's 'Man of Mode,' and clusion of Dryden's satire, as well as the general design of t • Love in a Tub."
| poem, was closely copied by Pope in his Dunciad.
Panting and pensive, now she ranged alone,
Or, call'd to more superior bliss,
Thou tread'st, with seraphims, the vast abyss :
Cease thy celestial song a little space ;
Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
In no ignoble verse; For truth has such a face and such a mien,
But such as thine own voice did practice here, As to be lov’d, needs only to be seen.
When thy first fruits of poesy were given ;
To make thyself a welcome inmate there : The Panther, sure the noblest next the Hind,
While yet a young probationer, st creature of the spotted kind:
And candidate of heaven. Oh, could her in-born stains be wash'd away,
If by traduction came thy mind, She were too good to be a beast of prey !
Our wonder is the less to find How can I praise, or blame, and not offend,
A soul so charming from a stock so good; Or how divide the frailty from the friend ?
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood : Her faults and virtues lie so mix'd, that she
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, Nor wholly stands condemn'd nor wholly free;
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein. Then like her injur'd lion, let me speak;
But if thy pre-existing soul He cannot bend her, and he would not break.
Was form'd at first with myriads more, Unkind already, and estrang’d in part,
It did through all the mighty poets roll, The wolf begins to share her wandering heart :
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, Though unpolluted yet with actual ill,
And was that Sappho last, which once it was before. She half commits who sins but in her will.
If so, then cease thy flight, О heaven-born mind ! If, as our dreaming Platonists report,
Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore : There could be spirits of a middle sort,
Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell,
Than was the beauteous frame she left behind. Who just dropt half way down, nor lower fell;
Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind So pois'd, so gently, she descends from high, It seems a soft dismission from the sky.
O gracious God! how far have we
Profan'd thy heav'nly gift of poesy ! [The Swallow.)
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, [From the same.)
Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above The swallow, privileg'd above the rest
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love? Of all the birds as man's familiar guest,
O wretched we! why were we hurried down
This lubrique and adulterate age,
(Nay, added fat pollutions of our own)
T'increase the steaming ordures of the stage ! Though 'tis not thought she feeds on smoke alone.
What can we say t' excuse our second fall? From hence she has been held of heavenly line,
Let this thy vestal, heaven, atone for all; Endued with particles of soul divine :
Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd,
Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd;
Her wit was more than man; her innocence a child. And time turn'd up the wrong side of the year;
When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, The shedding trees began the ground to strow With yellow leaves, and bitter blasts to blow:
To raise the nations under ground;
When in the valley of Jehoshaphat, Such auguries of winter thence she drew,
The judging God shall close the book of fate; Which by instinct or prophecy she knew;
And there the last assizes keep When prudence warn'd her to remove betimes,
For those who wake, and those who sleep; And seek a better heaven and warmer climes.
The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, Her sons were summon’d on a steeple's height,
And foremost from the tomb shall bound, And, call'd in common council, vote a flight.
For they are cover'd with the lightest ground; The day was nam'd, the next that should be fair;
And straight, with in-born vigour, on the wing, All to the general rendezvous repair ;
Like mountain larks, to the new morning sing. They try their fluttering wings, and trust themselves
There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shall go, in air.
As harbinger of heaven, the way to show,
The way which thou so well hast learnt below.
Three poets, in three distant ages born, And stoop on rivers, to refresh their wings.
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpass’d,
The next in majesty ; in both the last.
The force of nature could no further go; Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
To make a third, she join'd the other two. Made in the last promotion of the blest ; Whose palms, new pluck'd from paradise, In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
To my Honoured Kinsman, John Dryden, Esq. of Ches
terton, in the County of Huntingdon. Rich with immortal green above the rest : Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,
How bless'd is he who leads a country life, Thou roll'st above us, in thy wand'ring race,
Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Or, in procession fix'd and regular,
Who, studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Mov'st with the heaven-majestic pace ;
| Enjoyd his youth, and now enjoys his age !
Nor think the kindred muses thy disgrace;
All who deserve his love he makes his own,
Promoting concord, and composing strife,
So may your stores and fruitful fields increase,
With crowds attended of your ancient race,
Some overpoise of sway, by turns, they share ;
Patriots in peace assert the people's right,
O, true descendant of a patriot line!
By Philip's warlike son:
On his imperial throne :
His valiant peers were plac'd around,
So should desert in arms be crown'd.
Happy, happy, happy pair ;
None but the brare,
None but the brave deserves the fair.
Amid the tuneful quire,
And heavenly joys inspire.
When he to fair Olympia press'd;
Then round her slender waist he curl'd,
A present deity, they shout around;
With ravish'd ears
Affects to nod,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes ;
He shows his honest face.
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Fought all his battles o'er again :
He chose a mournful muse,
He sung Darius great and good,
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. And welt'ring in his blood;
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown:
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.
With downcast look the joyless victor sate,
Theodore and Honoria.
The chief, and most renown'd, Ravenna stands,
Adorn'd in ancient times with arms and arts,
And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts.
But Theodore the brave, above the rest,
With gifts of fortune and of nature bless'd,
The foremost place for wealth and honour held,
And all in feats of chivalry excell'd.
This noble youth to madness lor'd a dame
Of high degree, Honoria was her name;
Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind,
And fiercer than became so soft a kind.
Proud of her birth (for equal she had none),
The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone.
His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd;
For she, the more he lov'd, the more disdain'd.
He liv'd with all the pomp he could devise,
At tilts and tournaments obtain'd the prize,
But found no favour in his lady's eyes :
Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid
Turn'd all to poison that he did or said:
Nor prayers, nor tears, nor offer'd vows, could move;
The work went backward; and the more he strove
T'advance his suit, the farther from her love.
Wearied at length, and wanting remedy,
He doubted oft, and oft resolv'd to die. The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
But pride stood ready to prevent the blow, Now strike the golden lyre again ;
For who would die to gratify a foe?
His generous mind disdain'd so mean a fate; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
That pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate.
But vainer that relief than all the rest.
The less he hop'd, with more desire possess'd ;
Love stood the siege, and would not yield his breast. Has rais'd up his head,
Change was the next, but change deceiv'd his care;
He sought a fairer, but found none so fair.
He would have worn, her out by slow degrees,
As men by fasting starve th' untam'd disease :
But present love requir'd a present ease.
Looking, he feeds alone his famish'd eyes,
Feeds lingering death, but looking not, he dies.
Yet still he chose the longest way to fate,
Wasting at once his life and his estate.
His friends beheld, and pitied him in vain,
For what advice can ease a lover's pain?
Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind :
This means they long propos’d, but little gain's,
Yet, after much pursuit, at length obtain'd.
Hard you may think it was to give consent,
But struggling with his own desires he went,
With large expense, and with a pompous train,
Provided as to visit France and Spain,
Or for some distant voyage o'er the main.
But love had clipp'd his wings, and cut him short;
Confin'd within the purlieus of the court,
Three miles he went, no farther could retreat;
His travels ended at his country-seat:
To Chassis' pleasing plains he took his way,
There pitch'd his tents, and there resolv'd to stay.
The spring was in the prime; the neighbouring grove
Supplied with birds, the choristers of love:
Music unbought, that minister's delight
There he discharg'd his friends, but not th' expense Inventress of the vocal frame;
Of frequent treats and proud magnificence.
He liv'd as kings retire, though more at large
He said, at once dismounting from the steed; From public business, yet with equal charge;
For now the hell-hounds with superior speed With house and heart still open to receive;
Had reach'd the dame, and, fastening on her side, As well content as love would give him leave :
The ground with issuing streams of purple dyed ; He would have lir'd more free; but many a guest, Stood Theodore surpris'd in deadly fright, Who could forsake the friend, pursu'd the feast. With chattering teeth, and bristling hair upright; It hapt one morning, as his fancy led,
Yet arm'd with inborn worth, Whatc'er, said he, Before his usual hour he left his bed;
Thou art, who know'st me better than I thee; To walk within a lonely lawn, that stood
Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defied; On every side surrounded by a wood :
The spectre, fiercely staring, thus replied: Alone he walk'd, to please his pensive mind,
Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim,
And Guido Cavalcanti was my name.
Thee, then a boy, within my arms I laid,
When for my sins I lov'd this haughty maid; Uncouth and savage, as the cruel fair.
Not less ador'd in life, nor serv'd by me, He wander'd on, unknowing where he went,
Than proud Honoria now is lov'd by thee. Lost in the wood, and all on love intent:
What did I not her stubborn heart to gain? The day already half his race had run,
But all my vows were answer'd with disdain : And summon'd him to due repast at noon,
She scorn'd my sorrows, and despis'd my pain. But love could feel no hunger but his own.
Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless care ; Whilst listening to the murmuring leaves he stood, Then, loathing life, and plung'd in deep despair, More than a mile inmers'd within the wood,
To finish my unhappy life, I fell At once the wind was laid ; the whispering sound On this sharp sword, and now am damn'd in hell. Was dumb; a rising earthquake rock'd the ground; Short was her joy; for soon the insulting maid With deeper brown the grove was overspread; By heaven's decree in this cold grave was laid. A sudden horror seiz'd his giddy head.
And as in unrepented sin she died, And his ears tinkled, and his colour fled ;
Doom'd to the saine bad place is punish'd for her Nature was in alarm ; some danger nigh
pride; Seem'd threaten'd, though unseen to mortal eye. Because she deem'd I well deserv'd to die, Unus'd to fear, he summon'd all his soul,
And made a merit of her cruelty. And stood collected in himself, and whole;
There, then, we met; both tried, and both were cast, Not long : for soon a whirlwind rose around,
And this irrevocable sentence pass'd: And from afar he heard a screaming sound,
That she, whom I so long pursued in vain, As of a dame distress'd, who cried for aid,
Should suffer from my hands a lingering pain:
This pain: And fill'd with loud laments the secret shade. Renew'd to life, that she might daily die,
A thicket close beside the grove there stood, I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly;
d I pierce her open back or tender side,
This, vers'd in death, th' infernal knight relates, When heaven was nam'd, they loos’d their hold And then for proof fulfill'd the common fates; again,
Her heart and bowels through her back he arew, Then sprang she forth, they follow'd her amain. And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue; Not far behind, a knight of swarthy face,
Stern look'd the fiend, as frustrate of his will, High on a coal-black steed pursu'd the chase ; Not half suffic'd, and greedy yet to kill. With flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, And now the soul, expiring through the wound, And in his hand a naked sword he held:
Had left the body breathless on the ground, He cheer'd the dogs to follow her who fled,
When thus the grisly spectre spoke again : And vow'd revenge on her devoted head.
Behold the fruit of ill-rewarded pain : As Theodore was born of noble kind,
As many months as I sustain'd her hate, The brutal action rous'd his manly mind;
So many years is she condemn'd by fate Mov'd with unworthy usage of the maid,
To daily death; and every several place, He, though unarm’d, resolv'd to give her aid.
Conscious of her disdain and my disgrace, A sapling pine he wrench'd from out the ground, Must witness her just punishment, and be The readiest weapon that his fury found.
A scene of triumph and revenge to me! Thus furnish'd for offence, he cross'd the way
As in this grove I took my last farewell, Betwixt the graceless villain and his prey.
As on this very spot of earth I fell, The knight came thundering on, but, from afar, As Friday saw me die, so she my prey Thus in imperious tone forbade the war :
Becomes even here, on this revolving day. Cease, Theodore, to proffer vain relief,
Thus, while he spoke, the virgin from the ground Nor stop the vengeance of so just a grief;
Upstarted fresh, already clos'd the wound, But give me leave to seize my destin'd prey,
And unconcern'd for all she felt before, And let eternal justice take the way:
| Precipitates her flight along the shore : I but revenge my fate, disdain'd, betray'd,
The hell-bounds, as ungorg d with flesh and blood, And suffering death for this ungrateful maid. | Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food: