« ПредишнаНапред »
TRANSLATED OUT OF OVID.
Now like a Bacchana) more wild i stray,
Or old Cybele's priests, as mad as they
find 'tis love breeds all my pain.
Sure on our race love like a fate does fall, Theseus, the son of Ægeus, having slain the Mino- And Venus will have tribute of us all.
taur, promised to Ariadne, the daughter of Minos Jove lov'd Europa, whence my father came,
For two unhappy nymphs by you undone.
Twas there thou didst a perfect conquest gain, If thou 'rt unkind I ne'er shall health enjoy, Whilst love's fierce fever rag'd in every vein : Yet much I wish to thee, my lovely boy :
White was thy robe, a garland deck'd thy head, Read this, and reading how my soul is seiz'd, A modest blush thy comely face o'erspread: Rather than not, be with my ruin pleas'd : That face, which may be terrible in arms, Thus secrets safe to furthest shores may move; But graceful seem'd to me, and full of charms: By letters foes converse, and learn to love.
I love the man whose fashion 's least his care, Thrice my sad tale, as I to tell it try'd,
And hate my sex's coxcombs fine and fair; Upon my faltering tongue abortive dy'd;
For whilst thus plain thy careless locks let Ay, Long Shame prevail'd, nor could be conquer'a quite, Th' unpolish'd form is beauty in my eye. But what I blush'd to speak, Love made me write. If thou but ride, or shake the trembling dart, 'Tis dangerous to resist the power of Love, I fix my eyes, and wonder at thy art : The gods obey him, and he's king above; To see thee poise the javelin moves delight, He clear'd the doubts that did my mind confound, and all thou dost is lovely in my sight: And promis'd me to bring thee hither bound : But to the woods thy cruelty resign, Oh may he come, and in that breast of thine Nor treat it with so poor a life as mine. Fix a kind dart, and make it flame like mine! Must cold Diana be ador'd alone, Yet of my wedlock vows I 'll lose no care, Must she have all thy vows, and Venus none ? Scarch back through all my fame, thou'lt find it fair. That pleasure palls, if 'tis enjoy'd too long; But Love long breeding to worst pain does tum; Love makes the weary firm, the feeble strong. Outward unharm’d, within, within I burn !
For Cynthia's sake unbend and ease thy bow, As the young bull or courser yet untam'd,
Else to thy arm 'twill weak and useless grow, When yok'dor bridled first, are pinch'd and maim'd; Famous was Cephalus in wood and plain, So my unpractis'd heart in love can find
And by him many a boar and pard was slain, No rest, th' unwonted weight so toils iny mind : Yet to Aurora's love he did incline, When young, Love's pangs by arts we may remove, Who wisely left old age for youth like thine. • But in our riper years with race we love.
Under the spreading shades her amorous boy, To thee I yield then all my dear renown,
The fair Adonis, Venus conld enjoy ; And pr'ythee let 's together be undoné.
Atalanta's love to Meleager sought, Who would not pluck the new-blown blushing rose, And to her tribute paid of all he caught : Or the ripe fruit that courts him as it grows ? Be thou and I the next blest silvan pair; But if my virtue hitherto has gain'd
Where Love 's a stranger, woods but deserts are. Esteem for spotless, shall it now be stain'd ? With thiee, through dangerous ways unknown before, Oh, in thy love I shall no hazard run;
I'll rove, and fearless face the dreadful boar. 'Tis not a sin, but when 'tis coarsely done.
Between two seas a little isthmus lies, And now should Juno leave her Jove to me, Where on each side the beating billows rise, I'd quit that Jove, Hippolytus, for thee:
There in Trazena I thy love will meet; Believe me too, with strange desires I change, More blest and pleas'd than in my native Crete, Among wild beasts I long with thee to range. As we could wish, old Theseus is away To thy delights and Delia I incline,
At Thessaly, where always let him stay Make her my goddess too, because she 's thine: With his Perithoüs, whom well I see I long to know the woods, to drive the deer, Preferr'd above Hippolytus or me. And o'er the mountain's tops my hounds to cheer, Nor has he only thus exprest his hate; Shaking my dart; then, the chase ended, lie We both have sufferd wrongs of mighty weight: Stretch'd on the grass; and would'st not thou be by? My brother first he cruelly did slay, Oft in light chariots I with pleasure ride,
Then from my sister falsely ran away, And love myself the furious steeds to guide. And left expos'd to every beast a prey:
A warlike queen to thee thy being gave,
Night, kinder night, 's the much more welcome guest, A mother worthy of a son so brave,
For though it bring small ease, it hides at least; From cruel Theseus yet her deathedid find,
Or if e'er slumbers and my eyes agree, (thee. Nor, though she gave him thee, could make him kind. / 'Tis when they 're crown'd with pleasing dreams of Unwrdded too he murder'd her in spight,
Last night methought (Heaven make the next as To bastardize, and rob thee of thy right:
Free as first innocence, and unconfin'd [kind!) And if, to wrong thee more, two sons I 've brought, As our first parents in their Eden were, Believe it his, and none of Phadra's fanlt:
Ere yet condemp'd to eat their bread with care; Rather, thou fairest thing the Earth contains, We two together wander'd through a grove, I wish at first I'd dy'd of mother's pains.
'Twas green beneath us, and all shade above, How canst thou reverence then thy father's bed, Mild as our friendship, springing as our love ; From which himself so abjectly is fled ?
Hundreds of cheerful birds fill'd every tree, The thought affrights not me, but me inflames; And sung their joyful songs of liberty ; Mother and son are notions, very names
While through the gladsome choir well pleas'd we Of wom-out piety, in fashion then
walkid, When old dull Saturn rul'd the race of men ; And of our present valued state thus talk'd : But braver Jove taught pleasure was no sin,
How happy are we in this sweet retreat ? And with his sister did himself begin.
Thus humbly blest, wbu 'd labour to be great? Nearness of blood and kindred best we prove, Who for preferments at a court would wait, When we express it in the closest love.
Where every gudgeon 's nibbling at the bait? Nor need we fear our fault should be reveal'd; What fish of sense would on that shallow lie, 'Twill under near relation be conceal’d,
Amongst the little starving wriggling fry, And all who hear our loves, with praise shall crown That throng and crowd each other for a taste A mother's kindness to a grateful son.
Of the deceitful, painted, poison'd paste;
When the wide river he behind him sees,
No cares or business bere disturb our hours, But in one house, as heretofore, we 'll live; While, underneath these shady peaceful bowers, in publie, kisses take; in public, give:
In cool delight and innocence we stray, Though in my bed thou 'rt seen, 't will gain applause And midst a thousand pleasures waste the day: From all, whilst none have sense to guess the cause: Sometimes upon a river's bank we lie, Ouly make haste, and let this league be sign'd; Where skimming swallows o'er the surface fly, So may my tyrant Love to thee be kind.
Just as the Sun, declining with his beams, For this I am an humble suppliant grown ;
Kisses and gently warms the gliding streams; Now where are all my boasts of greatness gone? Amidst whose current rising fishes play, I swore I ne'er would yield, resolv'd to fight,
And roll in wanton liberty away. Deceivid by Love, that 's seldom in the right ; Perhaps hard by there grows a little bush, Now on my own I crawl, to clasp thy knees; On which the linnet, nightingale, and thrush, What's decent po true lover cares or sees :
Nightly their solemn orgies ineeting keep, Shame, like a beaten soldier, leaves the place, And sing their vespers ere they go to sleep: But beauty's blushes still are in my face.
There we two lie, between us may be 's spread Forgive this fond confession which I make, Some books, few understand, though many read. And then some pity on my sufferings take. Sometimes we Virgil's sacred leaves turn o'er, What though 'midst seas my father's empire lies; Still wondering, and still finding cause for more. Though my great grandsire thunder from the skies; How Juno's rage did good Æneas vex, What though my father's sire in beams drest gay
Then how he had revenge upon her sex Drives round the burning chariot of the day; In Dido's state, whom bravely he enjoy'd, Their bonour all in me to Love's a slave,
And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd; Then, though thou wilt not me, their honour save. He knew the fatal danger of her charms, Jove's famous island, Crete, in dower I'll bring,
And scorn'd to melt his virtue in her arms. And there sball my Hippolytus be king :
Next Nisus and Euryalus we admire, For Venus' sake then hear and grant my prayer,
Their gentle friendship, and their martial fire; So may'st thou never love a scornful fair;
We praise their valour, 'cause yet match'd by none, In fields so may Diana grace thee still,
And love their friendship, so much like our own. And every wood afford thee game to kill;
But when to give our minds a feast indeed, So may the mountain gods and satyrs all
Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read, Be kind, so may the boar before thee fall;
Who can our transports, or our longings tell, So may the water-nymphs in heat of day,
To taste of pleasures, prais'd by him so well?
To which retiring quietly at night,
When to our little.cottage we repair,
We find a friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Beverley, kind as parting lovers' tears,
Wilson, professing friendship yet a friend,
Finch, full of kindness, generous as his blood, For, as to some good-nature I pretend,
I feard to read, lest I should not commend. Who have forsook the vile tumultuous town, Lucretius english'd ! 'twas a work might shake And for a taste of life to us come down;
The power of English verse to undertake. With eager arms, how closely we' embrace !
This all men thought; but you are born, we find, What joys in every heart, and every face! T' outdo the expectations of mankind; The moderate table 's quickly cover'd o'er, Since you ’ve so well the noble task perform’d, With choicest meats at least, though not with store: Envy 's appeas'd, and Prejudice disarmd: Of bottles next succeeds a goodly train,
For when the rich original we peruse, Full of what cheers the heart, and fires the brain: And by it try the metal you produce, Lach waited on by a bright virgin glass,
Though there indeed the purest ore we find, Clean, sound, and shining like its drinker's lass. Yet still in you it something seems refin'd: Then down we sit, while every genius tries Thus when the great Lucretius gives a loose, T'improve, till he deserves his sacrifice:
And lashes to her speed his fiery Muse; No saucy Hour presumes to stint delight, (night. Still with him you maintain an equal pace, We laugh, love, driuk, and when that 's done 'tis And bear full stretch upon him all the race; Well warmid and pleas'd, as we think fit we'll part, But when in rugged way we find him rein Each takes th' obedient treasure of his heart, His verse, and not so smooth a stroke maintain ; And leads her willing to his silent bed,
There the advantage he receives is found, Where no vexatious cares come near his head, By you taught temper, and to choose his ground. But every sense with perfect pleasure 's fed; Next, his philosophy you 're so exprest Till in full joy dissolvd, each falls asleep
In genuine terms, so plain, yet neatly drest, With twining limbs, that still Love's posture keep, Those murderers that now mingle it all day At dawn of morning to renew delight,
In schools, may learn from you the easy way So quiet craving Love, till the next night:
To let us know what they would inean and say: Then we the drowsy cells of Sleep forsake,
If Aristotle's friends will show the grace And to our books our earliest visit make;
To wave for once their statute in that case. Or else our thoughts to their attendance call, Go on then, sir, and since you could aspire, And there, methinks, Fancy sits queen of all; And reach this height, aim yet at laureis higher : While the poor under-faculties resort,
Secure great injur'd Maro from the wrong And to her fickle majesty make court;
He unredeem'd has labour'd with so long The Understanding first comes plainly clad, In Holbourn rhyme, and, lest the book should fail, But usefully; no entrance to be had.
Expos'd with pictures to promote the sale: Next comes the Will, that bully of the mind, So tapsters set out signs, for muddy ale. Follies wait on him in a troop behind;
You 're only able to retrieve his doom, He meets reception from the antic queen,
And make him here as fam'd as once at Rome: Who thinks her majesty 's most honour'd, when For sure, when Julius first this isle subdued, Attended by those fine-drest gentlemen.
Your ancestors then mixt with Roman blood; Reason, the honest counsellor, this knows,
Some near ally'd to that whence Ovid came, And into court with resolute virtue goes;
Virgil and Horace, those three sons of Fame; Lets Fancy see her loose irregular sway,
Since to their memory it is so true,
With lousy madrigals for lyric verse;
Instead of comedy with nasty farce. No grove, no freedom, and, what 's 'worse to me, Would Plautus, Terence e'er, have been so lewd No friend; for I have none compar'd with thee. T' have drest Jack-pudding up to catch the crowd? Soon then my thoughts with their old tyrant Care Or Sophocles five tedious acts have made, Were seiz'd; which to divert, I fram'd this prayer: To show a whining fool in love betray'd “Gods! life 's your gift, then season 't with such By some false friend or slippery chambermaid, fate,
Then, ere he hangs himself, bemoans his fall That what ye meant a blessing prove no weight. In a dull speech, and that fine language call ? Let me to the remotest part be whirld,
No, since we live in such a fulsome age, Of this your plaything made in haste, the world ; When nonsense loads the press, and choaks the stage; But grant me quiet, liberty, and peace,
When blockheads will claim wit in Nature's spite, By day what's needful, and at night soft ease; And every dunce, that starves, presumes to write, The friend I trust in, and the she I love,
Exert yourself, defend the Muse's cause, Then fix me; and if e'er I wish remove,
Proclaim their right, and to maintain their laws Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can. Make the dead ancients speak the British tongue; Set me in power, the woefull'st state of man; That so each chattering daw, who aims at song, To be by fools misled, to knaves a prey,
In his own mother-longue may humbly read But make life what I ask, or take 't away." What engines yet are wanting in his head
To make him equal to the mighty dead;
For of all Nature's works we most should scorn TO MR. CREECH,
The thing who thinks himself a poet born,
Unbred, untaught, he rhymes, yet hardly spells, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS.
And senselessly, as squirrels jangle bells. Sir, when your book the first time came abroad, Such things, sir, here abound; may therefore you Į nust confess I stood amaz'd and awd;
Be ever to your friends, the Muses, true!
May our defects be by your powers supply'd, Let the illustrious mother touch our land
Mildly, as hereafter may her son command.; Till by your pen restord, in triumph borne, While our glad monarch welcomes her to shore, The majesty of Poetry return!
With kind assurance she shall part no more.
Be the majestic babe then smiling born,
Of Cæsar's love to an obedient land.
SPOKEN UPON HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF YORK
COMING TO THE THEATRE, FRIDAY, APRIL 21, 1682.
Waen too much plenty, luxury, and ease,
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,
ON HER RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, IN THE YEAR 1682.
All you, who this day's jubilee attend, Fix'd, for three kingdoms' quiet, sir, on you : And every loyal Muse's loyal friend, He cast his searching eyes v'er all the frame, That come to treat your longing wishes here, And finding whence before one sickness came, Turn your desiring eyes, and feast them there. How once before our mischiefs foster'd were, Thus falling on your knees with me implore, Knew well your virtue, and apply'd you there: May this poor land ne'er lose that presence more! Where so your goodness, so your justice sway'd, But if there any in this circle be, You but appear'd, and the wild plague was stay'd. That come so curst to envy what they see,
When, from the filthy dunghill-faction bred, From the vain fool, that would be great too soon, New-form'd Rebellion durst rear up its head,
To the dull knave that writ the last lampoon ! Answer me all : Who struck the monster dead? Let such, as victims to that beauty's fame,
See, see, the injur'd prince, and bless his name, Hang their vile blasted heads, and die with shame. Think on the martyr from whose loins he came; Our mighty blessing is at last returnd, Think on the blood was shed for you before, The joy arriv'd for which so long we mourn'd: And curse the parricides that thirst for more. From whom our present peace we expect increas'd, His foes are yours, then of their wiles beware: And all our future generations blest. Lav, lay him in your hearts, and guard him there, Time, have a care: bring safe the hour of joy, Where let his wrongs your zeal for him improve; When some blest tongue proclaims a royal boy: He wears a sword will justify your love.
And when 'tis born, let Nature's hand be strong; With blood still ready for your good t'expend, Bless him with days of strength, and make them And has a heart that ne'er forgot his friend.
long ; His duteous loyalty before you lay,
Till charg'd with bonours we behold him stand, And learn of him, unmurmuring, to obey.
Three kingdoins' banners waiting his command, Think what he 'as borne, your quiet to restore ; His father's conquering sword within his hand : Repent your madness, and rebel no more.
Then th’ English lions in the air advance,
In lands where cuckolds multiply like ours,
TO MRS. Beun's CITY HEIRESS, 1682.
Cast, cast your idols off, your gods of wood, In striving to reclaim a vicious age ! Ere yet Philistines fatten with your blood : Poets may write, the inischief to impeach; Renounce your priests of Baal with amen faces, You care as little what the poets teach, Your Wapping feasts, and your Mile-end high places. As you regard at church what parsons preach.
Nail all your medals on the gallows' post, But where such follies and such vices reign, in recompense th' original was lost :
What honest pen has patience to refrain ? At these, illustrious repentance pay,
At church, in pews, ye most devoutly snore, In his kind hands your humble offerings lay: And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar; Let royal pardon be by him implor'd,
Ye go to church, to glout and ogle there, 'Th'atoning brother of your anger'd lord:
And come to meet, more lewd, convenient here: He only brings a med'eine fit tassuage
With equal zcal ye honour either place,
It must be so; some demon has passest
Y' have seen it all, and heard of its renon n, With gentle breezes waft it safely there,
In reverend shape it stalk'd about the town, The seas, like what they 'll carry, calm and fair: Six yeomen tall attending on its frown.
TO A SCOTCH TUNE.
Sometimes, with humble note and zealous lore, For me, a little cell I choose,
Fit for my mind, fit for my Muse,
I Love, I doat, I rave with pain,
No quiet's in my mind,
Though ne'er could be a happier gwain,
Were Sylvia less unkind.
Por when, as long her chains I've wom, This demon lately drew in many a guest,
I ask relief from smart, To part with zealous guinea for-po feast.
She only gives me looks of scorn;
Alas! 'twill break my heart !
May offer heaps of gold,
But surely I a Heaven adore, But who e'er paid for a sham treat before?
Too precious to be sold; Had you not better sept your offerings all
Can Sylvia such a coxčomb prize, Hither to us, than Sequestrators' Hall ?
For wealth, and not desert; I being your steward, justice had been done ye ;
And my poor sighs and tears despise ?
Alas! 'twill break my heart !
I for my bliss contend,
And plead the cause of eager Love,
She coldly calls me friend.
Ah, Sylvia ! thus in vain you strive
To act a healer's part,
"Twill keep but lingering pain alive, In storms when clouds the Moon do hide,
Alas! and break my heart.
When, on my lonely, pensive bed
I lay me down to rest, Who does not wish for quiet here.
In hope to calm my raging head, For quiet, friend, the soldier fights,
And cool my burning breast, Bears weary marches, sleepless niglits,
Her cruelty all ease denies; For this feeds hard, and lodges cold ;
With some sad dream I start, Which can't be bought with hills of gold.
All drown'd in tears I find my eyes,
And breaking feel my heart.
Then rising, through the path I move,
That leads me where she dwells, Happy the man with little blest,
Where to the senseless waves my Love Of what his father left possest;
Its mournful story tells : No base desires corrupt his head,
With sighs I dew and kiss the door, No fears disturb him in his bed.
Till morning bids depart; What then in life, which soon must end,
Then vent ten thousand sighs and more: Can all our vain designs intend ?
Alas! 'twill break my heart ! From shore to shore why should we run,
But, Sylvia, when this conquest 's won, When none his tiresome self can shun?
And I am dead and cold, For baneful Care will still prevail,
Renounce the cruel deed you 've done, And overtake us under sail,
Nor glory when 'tis told; - 'Twill dodge the great man's train behind,
Por every lovely generous maid Outrun the roe, outfly the wind.
Will take my injur'd part, If then thy soul rejoice to-day,
And curse thee, Sylvia, 'm afraid,
For breaking my poor heart.
TO N. LEE'S CONSTANTINE THE GREAT.
What think ye meant wise Providence, when first A fertile glebe, a fruitful flock,
Poets were made ? I'd tell you, if I durst, Horses and chariots for thy ease,
That 'twas in contradiction to Heaven's word, Rich robes to deck and make thee please. That when its spirit o'er the waters stirrd,