« ПредишнаНапред »
Queen that has sat on the English throne; and therefore, I hope, is entitled to your Royal Highness's smiles over his urn.
Could I picture out his character equal to its merits, the world would foon difcover a sort of parallel betwixt the Poet and his Patroness. His excellencies were as great, as they were various; his beauties strong, and all native; the frame of his mind as sweet and candid, as his countenance was open and engaging; and his fentiments as chaste, as his conceptions were noble: He knew how to charm without affectation; and had the wondrous force of preserving all hearts, that once felt the influence of his attractions.
After what I have said, MADAM, I am afraid the duty of this address should be misconftrued a panegyrick on your Royal Highness. But I have professid myself unequal to the task of drawing his portraiture, and my humble sphere in
life sets meat too great a distance to take even the outlines of your perfections. I would not therefore, where I cannot prefumeto do justice, be thought to descend to the unbecoming art of flattery. I must launch out, indeed, a great way, to make inyself liable to that imputation, with regard to your Royal Highness; but Dedications are generally suspected of overstraining.
How far soever, MADAM, my vanity or my ambition might mislead me into that tract, I'll oblige myself to govern both by duty; and turn all attempts of praise and compliment into veneration and pious wishes. That You may long continue to bless the eyes and arms of the PRINCE, your Illustrious Confort; and that you may continue to bless the nation with a numerous succession of Princes, to the future glory and security of our establishment, is my ardent
prayer ; and in that I will center the only merit, by which I would pretend to profess myself,
M A D A M,
Your ROYAL HIGHNESS'S
Moft dutiful and most obedient,
An EPITAPH on the admirable
Dramatic Poet, W. SHAKESPEARE. W
HAT neede my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones
The labour of an age, in piled ftones ?
J. MILTON.' † This Epitaph was written in 1630, when Milton was in his two and twentieth year; for he was born in 1608. 要要要 24uS tus us us us us at us at ur
In Remembrance of
Your num'rous feet not tread
(Unwilling now to grow, Looks like the plume a captain wears, Whose rifed falls are steept i'th'tears Which from his last
That reach the map, and look
On the Effigies of SHAKESPEARE, prefixed to his printed Works.
To the Memory of my Beloved, the Author,
And what he hath left us.
Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame :