With joy we bring what our dead authors writ,
And beg from you the value of their wit :
That Shakespear's, Fletcher's, and great Johnson's
May be renew'd from those who gave them fame. None of our living poets dare appear;
For muses so severe are worshipp'd here,
That, confcious of their faults, they fhun the eye,
And, as prophane, from facred places fly,
Rather than fee the offended God, and die.
We bring no imperfections, but our own;
Such faults as made are by the makers shown:
And you have been so kind, that we may boaft,
The greatest judges still can pardon most.
Poets must stoop, when they would please our pit,
Debas'd even to the level of their wit;
Disdaining that, which yet they know will take,
Hating themselves what their applause must make.
But when to praise from you they would aspire,
Tho they like eagles mount, your Jove is higher.
So far your knowlege all their power transcends,
As what should be beyond what Is extends.
ERE you but half so wise as you're severe, Our youthful poet should not need to fear: To his green years your cenfures you would fuit, Not blast the blossom, but expect the fruit, The sex, that best does pleasure understand, Will always choose to err on t'other hand. They check not him that's aukward in delight, But clap the young rogue's cheek, and set him
Thus hearten'd well, and flesh'd upon his prey,
The youth may prove a man another day.
Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young flight,
Did no Volpone, nor no Arbaces write;
But hopp'd about, and short excursions made
From bough to bough, as if they were afraid,
And each was guilty of some flighted maid.
Shakefpear's own muse her Pericles first bore;
The prince of Tyre was elder than the Moore :
'Tis miracle to fee a first good play;
All hawthorns do not bloom on Christmas-day.
A flender poet must have time to grow,
And spread and burnish as his brothers do.
Who still looks lean, sure with some pox is curst:
But no man can be Falstaff-fat at first.
Then damn not, but indulge his rude essays,
Encourage him, and bloat him up with praise,
That he may get more bulk before he dies :
He's not yet fed enough for facrifice.
Perhaps, if now your grace you will not grudge,
He may grow up to write, and you to judge.
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Intended to have been spoken by
The Lady HEN. MAR. WENTWORTH, When CALISTO was acted at Court.
AS Júpiter I made my court in vain;
I'll now assume my native shape again,
I'm weary to be so unkindly us'd,
And would not be a God to be refus'd.
State grows uneasy when it hinders love;
A glorious burden, which the wife remove,
Now as a nymph I need not sue, nor try
The force of any lightning but the eye.
Beauty and youth more than a God command;
No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand.
'Tis here that sov'reign power admits dispute;
Beauty sometimes is justly absolute.
Our fullen Cato's, whatsoe'er they say,
Even while they frown and dictate laws, obey.
You, mighty fir, our bonds more easy make,
And gracefully, what all must suffer, take :
Above those forms the grave affect to wear ;
For 'tis not to be wife to be severe.
True wisdom may some gallantry admit,
And foften business with the charms of wit.
These peaceful triumphs with your cares you
And from the midst of fighting nations brought.
You only hear it thunder from afar,
And fit in peace the arbiter of war:
Peace, the loath'd manna, which hot brains despise.
You knew its worth, and made it early prize :
And in its happy leisure fit and fee
The promises of more felicity :
Two glorious nymphs of your own godlike line, Whose morning rays like noontide strike and shine;
Whom you to fupplant monarchs shall dispose, To bind your friends, and to difarm your foes.
They feem not of heaven's making, but their own,
Those nauseous harlequins in farce may pass;
But there goes more to a substantial ass :
Something of man must be expos'd to view,
That, gallants, they may more refemble you.
Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ,
The ladies would mistake him for a wit;
And, when he sings, talks loud, and cocks
I vow, methinks, he's pretty company:
So brisk, so gay, fo travell'd, so refin'd,
As he took pains to graff upon his kind.
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