Can meter cancel bonds? is there a time Ever to hope to wipe out chalk with rhime ? Or if I now were hurrying to a jail, Are the nine mufes held fufficient bail? Would they to any compofition come, If we should mortgage our Elifum, Tempe, Parnaffus, and the golden ftreams Of Tagus, and Pactolus, thofe rich dreams Of active fancy?
Clowns for pofterity may cark and care; That cannot out-live death but in an heir: By more than wealth we propagate our names, That trust not to fucceffions, but our fames.
A poet's then exact in ev'ry part That is born one by nature, nurft by art: Whofe happy mixture both of skill and fate, Makes the most fudden thought elaborate : Whofe eafy ftrains a flowing fenfe does fit; Unforc'd expreffions, and unravifh'd wit : Words fill'd with equal fubject, fuch as brings Tochofen language, high and chofen things. Harfh reafon clear as day, as fmooth as fleep, Glide here like rivers, even ftill though deep: Difcords grow mufick; grief itfelf delight; Horror when he defcribes, leaves off t'affright. Sullen philofophy does learn to go
In lightest dreflings, and becomes them too.
Poets are truly poor; but only then, When each a hero lacks for his own pen. They pine when mighty arguments are fcant; And not, when they that trifle, treasure, want. As at fuch dearth they languifh, fo they feem To fwell, when they have got a plenteous theme; For rafhly then the muses take their flight: Yet as a man, o'erjoy'd at fudden fight
Of treasure found, grows jealous, and through care, Left others in his prize fhould claim a fhare, Bears haftily from that which he did find Much lefs away, than what he leaves behind : So, whilft thus rafhly I convey to fame Your virtues, I fo few of them proclaim, That
many more are left behind unprais'd,
Than thofe, which on this poem's wings are rais'd. How glad will all difcreeter poets be,
Becaufe, whilft in their choice they difagree, They this imperfect present shall prevent, Which darkens you, to whom it luftre meant ; Or rather it does quite extinguifh me; Who looking up to you, do only fee I by a fainting taper lofe my aim, And lifting it too high, put out the flame.
Sir W. Davenant to the King. Th'eternal caufe, in their immortal lines Was taught; and poets were the first divines: And Mofes, in the old original,
Ev'n God, the poet of the world doth call.
Poets by dangers, like old foldiers taught,
Grow wife; and fhun the fame which once they fought. Prologue to Sir R. Howard's Veftal Virgin.
With equal eagerness contend
Some to cry down, and others to commend : So eafy 'tis to judge, fo hard to do;
'There's fo much frailty, yet fuch prying too ; That who their poetry to view expose, Must be prepar'd to be abus'd in profe.
Alexander Brome on Richard Brome. A poem's life and death dependeth ftill Not on the poet's wit, but reader's will.
POLITICIAN.
This lump of projects, ere it be lick'd o'er, C 4
Is like a bear's conception: Stratagems B'ing but begot, and not got out; are like Charg'd cannons not discharg'd; they do no harm Nor good: True policy, breeding in the brain, Is like a bar of iron, whofe ribs b'ing broken, And foften'd i'th' fire, you then may forge it Into a fword to kill, or to a helmet,
To defend life: 'Tis therefore wit to try All fashions, ere y' apparel villany.
In ftate, is a ridic❜lous miracle; Friendship is but a vizor, beneath which A wife man laughs to fee whole families Ruin'd; upon whose miserable pile He mounts to glory.
Chapman and Shirley's Admiral of France.
Juftice to live, doth nought but justice need,
But policy must still on mischief feed:
Untruth, for all his ends, truth's name doth fue in; None fafely live, but those that study ruin.
Chapman's Revenge of Buffey D'ambois.
For who obferves ftrict policy's true laws, Shifts his proceeding to the varying cause.
A politician, Proteus-like, muft alter His face and habit; and like water, feem Of the fame colour that the veffel is That doth contain it; varying his form With the camelion at each object's change. My tongue muft
With paffionate oaths and proteftations,
With fighs, fmooth glances, and officious terms, Spread artificial mifts before the eyes
Of cred'lous fimplicity: He that will be high, Must be a parafite, to fawn and lie.
He that deals all by ftrength, his wit is shallow: When a man's head goes thro', each limb will follow
Webfter's White Devil. my drifts,
He that can compass me, and know
May fay he hath put a girdle 'bout the world, And founded all her quick-fands.
Webster's Dutchess of Malfy.
This 'tis for a puny
In policy's Protean school, to try conclufions With one that hath commenc'd and gone out doctor. If I discover what but now he bragg'd of,
I fhall not be believ'd: If I fall off
From him, his threats and actions go together; And there's no hope of fafety, till I get A plummet, that may found his deepest councils. I must obey and ferve him. Want of skill Now makes me play the rogue against my will.
Maflinger's Duke of Milan.
The greatest politician may be
Deceiv'd fometimes; wit without brains we fee.
Shirley's Witty Fair One.
That with their crabbed faces, and fly tricks Legerdemain, ducks, cringes, formal beards, Crifp'd hairs, and punctual cheats, do wriggle in Their heads firft, like a fox, to rooms of ftate, Then the whole body follows.
John Ford's Lover's Melancholy. Policy wills fome feeming caufe be had,
To make that good, which juftice knows for bad. ' Jones's Adrafta.
When time has made bold with the king and subject, Throwing down all fence that flood 'twixt their pow'r And others right; are, on a change,
Like wanton falmons coming in with floods,
That leap o'er wires and nets; and make their way, To be at their return, to ev'ry one a prey.
Have evermore a taint of vanity; As hafty still to fhew, and boast a plot, As they are greedy to contrive it.
Sir W. Davenant's Fair Favourite.
POPULARITY. I love the people;
But do not like to flage me to their eyes: Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and Ave's vehement: Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 'That does affect it.
Shakespear's Meafure for Measure.
Ourfelf, and Busby, Bagot here, and Green Obferv'd his courtship to the common people: How he did feem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy; What rev'rence he did throw away on flaves; Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, And patient under-bearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of dray-men bid, God fpeed him well: And had the tribute of his fupple knee, With- -Thanks, my countrymen, As were our England in reverfion his, And he our fubjects next degree in hope.
Shakespear's King Richard II.
Who hates not the vulgar, deferves not love Of the virtuous: And to affect praise of That we defpife, how ridiculous is it?
Chapman's Widow's Tears. Look how Thames, enrich'd with many a flood, And goodly river, (that have made their graves, And bury'd both their names, and all their good, Within his greatnefs, to augment his waves) Glides on with pomp of waters, unwithftood, Unto the ocean; which his tribute craves,
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