The nymph, who oft had read in books Of that bright god whom bards invoke, Soon knew Apollo by his looks, And guess'd his business ere he spoke. He, in the old celestial cant, Confess'd his flame, and swore by Styx, Whate'er she would desire, to grantBut wise Ardelia knew his tricks. Ovid had warn'd her to beware Of strolling gods, whose usual trade is, Under pretence of taking air, To pick up sublunary ladies. Howe'er, she gave no flat denial, "Hear my request," the virgin said; By vow obliged, by passion led, The god could not refuse her prayer: He waved his wreath thrice o'er her head, Thrice mutter'd something to the air. And now he thought to seize his due ; Thalia heard the call, and flew To wait at bright Ardelia's side. On sight of this celestial prude, He hoped to find some lucky hour, Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke : "Let stubborn pride possess thee long, "Of modest poets be thou first; To silent shades repeat thy verse, Till Fame and Echo almost burst, Yet hardly dare one line rehearse. "And last, my vengeance to complete, May'st thou descend to take renown, Prevail'd on by the thing you hate, A Whig! and one that wears a gown!" VANBRUGH'S HOUSE, BUILT FROM THE RUINS OF WHITEHALL THAT WAS BURNT 1703. In the preface to the Miscellanies, in which this lively satire first appeared, the author expresses some compunction for having written it. It does injustice to Vanbrugh, both as a poet and architect. The comedies of that celebrated dramatist afford excellent examples of light, easy, and natural dialogues; and were, as Cibber has recorded, less troublesome to the memory of the performers than those of any other dramatist. He died at the house in Whitehall (here ridiculed,) 26th March, 1726. In times of old, when Time was young, Might raise a house about two stories; Now Poets feel this art is lost. And should they build as fast as write, Van (for 'tis fit the reader know it) Or, by achievements, arms, device, And as a poet, he has skill To build in speculation still. "Great Jove!" he cried, "the art restore To build by verse as heretofore, And make my Muse the architect; What palaces shall we erect! * Sir John Vanbrugh at that time held the office of Clarencieux king of arms, which he afterwards disposed of. Told Van, he knew his talent best, So men of old, to gain renown, did Down from Olympus' top he slides, Ay, thought the god, are these your tricks? your stuff, Your building shall be small enough. He spake, and grudging, lent his aid; Th' experienced bricks, that knew their trade, (As being bricks at second hand,) Now move, and now in order stand. The building, as the Poet writ, Rose in proportion to his wit- The scene, a wood, produced no more * Several of Vanbrugh's plays are taken from Moliere. |