Of damned riches, ever after sink But knowledge is the nectar that keeps sweet Which pleaseth Cæsar more than servile fawns. A flatter'd prince soon turns the prince of fools. And for thy sake, we 'll put no difference more Between the great and good for being poor. Say then, loved Horace, thy true thought of Virgil. Hor. I judge him of a rectified spirit, By many revolutions of discourse, (In his bright reason's influence,) refined From all the tartarous moods of common men ; Of a right heavenly body; most severe Gal. And yet so chaste and tender is his ear, That he thinks may become the honour'd name That all the lasting fruits of his full merit, In his own poems, he doth still distaste; As if his mind's piece, which he strove to paint, Could not with fleshly pencils have her right. Tib. But to approve his works of sovereign worth, This observation, methinks, more than serves, And is not vulgar. That which he hath writ Is with such judgment labour'd, and distill'd Through all the needful uses of our lives, That could a man remember but his lines, He should not touch at any serious point, But he might breathe his spirit out of him. Cas. You mean, he might repeat part of his works, As fit for any conference he can use ? Tib. True, royal Cæsar. Cas. Worthily observed; And a most worthy virtue in his works. What thinks material Horace of his learning? Hor. His learning savours not the school-like gloss, That most consists in echoing words and terms, And soonest wins a man an empty name; Nor any long or far-fetch'd circumstance Wrapp'd in the curious generalties of arts; But a direct and analytic sum Of all the worth and first effects of arts. And for his poesy, 'tis so ramm'd with life, That it shall gather strength of life, with being, And live hereafter more admired than now. Cas. This one consent in all your dooms of him, And mutual loves of all your several merits, Argues a truth of merit in you all. VIRGIL enters. See, here comes Virgil; we will rise and greet him. Vir. Worthless they are of Cæsar's gracious eyes, Be satisfied with any other service, I would not show them. Cas. Virgil is too modest; Or seeks, in vain, to make our longings more. Vir. Then, in such due fear As fits presenters of great works to Cæsar, Cæs. Let us now behold A human soul made visible in life; Virtue, without presumption, place may take Cas. The course of heaven, and fate itself, in this, Will Cæsar cross; much more all worldly custom. Hor. Custom, in course of honour, ever errs; And they are best whom fortune least prefers. Shall show we are a man distinct by it, Vir. Great Cæsar hath his will; I will ascend. 'Twere simple injury to his free hand, That sweeps the cobwebs from unused virtue, And makes her shine proportion'd to her worth, To be more nice to entertain his grace, Than he is choice, and liberal to afford it. Cas. Gentlemen of our chamber, guard the doors, And let none enter; peace. Begin, good Virgil. VIRGIL reads part of his fourth Æneid. Vir. Meanwhile, the skies 'gan thunder, &c. [This Roman play seems written to confute those enemies of Ben Jonson in his own days and ours, who have said that he made a pedantical use of his learning He has here revived the whole court of Augustus, by a learned spell. We are admitted to the society of the illustrious dead. Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Tibullus, converse in our own tongue more finely and poetically than they expressed themselves in their native Latin.-Nothing can be imagined more elegant, refined, and court-like than the scenes between this Louis the Fourteenth of antiquity and his literati. The whole essence and secret of that kind of intercourse is contained therein. The economical liberality by which greatness, seeming to wave some part of its prerogative, takes care to lose none of the essentials; the prudential liberties of an inferior which flatter by commanded boldness and soothe with complimental security.] SEJANUS HIS FALL, A TRAGEDY: SEJANUS, the morning he is condemned by the Senate, receives some tokens which presage his death. SEJANUS. POMPONIUS. MINUTIUS. TERENTIUS, &C. Ter. Are these things true? Min. Thousands are gazing at it in the streets. Sej. What 's that? Ter. Minutius tells us here, my lord, That a new head being set upon your statue, A rope is since found wreath'd about it! and, Of a great ball was seen to roll along Sej. No more. Send for the tribunes, we will straight have up Trio the consul, or what senators You, my good Natta, Furnius and Gallus, which I have grubb'd up; Lopt off and scatter'd her proud branches, Nero, I faint now ere I touch my period, |