Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 19

Mankind was first created an essay; That ruder draught the Deluge wash'd away.

How many ages pa.s.s'd, what blood and toil, Before we made one kingdom of this isle!

How long in vain had nature striven to frame A perfect princess, ere her Highness came!

For joys so great we must with patience wait; 'Tis the set price of happiness complete.

As a first fruit, Heaven claim'd that lovely boy; The next shall live, and be the nation's joy.

[1] 'Duke of Cambridge': The Duke of York's second son by Mary d'Este.

He died when he was only a month old, November 1677.

OF THE LADY MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE.[1]

1 As once the lion honey gave, Out of the strong such sweetness came; A royal hero, no less brave, Produced this sweet, this lovely dame.

2 To her the prince, that did oppose Such mighty armies in the field, And Holland from prevailing foes Could so well free, himself does yield.

3 Not Belgia's fleet (his high command) Which triumphs where the sun does rise, Nor all the force he leads by land, Could guard him from her conqu'ring eyes.

4 Orange, with youth, experience has; In action young, in council old; Orange is, what Augustus was, Brave, wary, provident, and bold.

5 On that fair tree which bears his name, Blossoms and fruit at once are found; In him we all admire the same, His flow'ry youth with wisdom crown'd!

6 Empire and freedom reconciled In Holland are by great Na.s.sau; Like those he sprung from, just and mild, To willing people he gives law.

7 Thrice happy pair! so near allied In royal blood, and virtue too!

Now love has you together tied, May none this triple knot undo!

8 The church shall be the happy place Where streams, which from the same source run, Though divers lands a while they grace, Unite again, and are made one.

9 A thousand thanks the nation owes To him that does protect us all; For while he thus his niece bestows, About our isle he builds a wall;

10 A wall! like that which Athens had, By th'oracle's advice, of wood; Had theirs been such as Charles has made, That mighty state till now had stood.

[1] 'Princess of Orange': The Princess Mary was married to the Prince of Orange at St. James's, in November 1677.

UPON BEN JONSON.

Mirror of poets! mirror of our age!

Which her whole face beholding on thy stage, Pleased and displeased with her own faults, endures A remedy like those whom music cures.

Thou hast alone those various inclinations Which Nature gives to ages, s.e.xes, nations; So traced with thy all-resembling pen, That whate'er custom has imposed on men, Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so, That scarce a brother can his brother know) 10 Is represented to the wond'ring eyes Of all that see, or read, thy comedies.

Whoever in those gla.s.ses looks, may find The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind; And by the help of so divine an art, At leisure view, and dress, his n.o.bler part.

Narcissus, cozen'd by that flatt'ring well, Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, Had here, discov'ring the deformed estate Of his fond mind, preserved himself with hate. 20 But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had Beheld, what his high fancy once embraced, Virtue with colours, speech, and motion graced.

The sundry postures of thy copious Muse Who would express, a thousand tongues must use; Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art; For as thou couldst all characters impart, So none could render thine, which still escapes, Like Proteus, in variety of shapes; 30 Who was nor this nor that; but all we find, And all we can imagine, in mankind.

ON MR JOHN FLETCHER'S PLAYS.

Fletcher! to thee we do not only owe All these good plays, but those of others too; Thy wit repeated does support the stage, Credits the last, and entertains this age.

No worthies, form'd by any Muse but thine, Could purchase robes to make themselves so fine.

What brave commander is not proud to see Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry?

Our greatest ladies love to see their scorn Outdone by thine, in what themselves have worn; 10 Th' impatient widow, ere the year be done, Sees thy Aspasia weeping in her gown.

I never yet the tragic strain essay'd, Deterr'd by that inimitable Maid;[1]

And when I venture at the comic style, Thy Scornful Lady seems to mock my toil.

Thus has thy Muse at once improved and marr'd Our sport in plays, by rend'ring it too hard!

So when a sort of l.u.s.ty shepherds throw The bar by turns, and none the rest outgo 20 So far, but that the best are measuring casts, Their emulation and their pastime lasts; But if some brawny yeoman of the guard Step in, and toss the axletree a yard, Or more, beyond the furthest mark, the rest Despairing stand; their sport is at the best.

[1] 'Inimitable Maid': the _Maid's Tragedy_, the joint production of Beaumont and Fletcher.

UPON THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON'S TRANSLATION OF HORACE, 'DE ARTE POETICA;'

AND OF THE USE OF POETRY.

Rome was not better by her Horace taught, Than we are here to comprehend his thought; The poet writ to n.o.ble Piso there; A n.o.ble Piso does instruct us here, Gives us a pattern in his flowing style, And with rich precepts does oblige our isle: Britain! whose genius is in verse express'd, Bold and sublime, but negligently dress'd.

Horace will our superfluous branches prune, 10 Give us new rules, and set our harp in tune; Direct us how to back the winged horse, Favour his flight, and moderate his force.

Though poets may of inspiration boast, Their rage, ill-govern'd, in the clouds is lost.

He that proportion'd wonders can disclose, At once his fancy and his judgment shows.

Chaste moral writing we may learn from hence, Neglect of which no wit can recompense.

The fountain which from Helicon proceeds, That sacred stream! should never water weeds, 20 Nor make the crop of thorns and thistles grow, Which envy or perverted nature sow.

Well-sounding verses are the charm we use, Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse; Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold, But they move more in lofty numbers told.

By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, We learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades.

The Muses' friend, unto himself severe, With silent pity looks on all that err; 30 But where a brave, a public action shines, That he rewards with his immortal lines.

Whether it be in council or in fight, His country's honour is his chief delight; Praise of great acts he scatters as a seed, Which may the like in coming ages breed.

Here taught the fate of verses (always prized With admiration, or as much despised), Men will be less indulgent to their faults, And patience have to cultivate their thoughts. 40 Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot; Finding new words, that to the ravish'd ear May like the language of the G.o.ds appear, Such as, of old, wise bards employ'd, to make Unpolish'd men their wild retreats forsake; Law-giving heroes, famed for taming brutes, And raising cities with their charming lutes; For rudest minds with harmony were caught, And civil life was by the Muses taught. 50 So wand'ring bees would perish in the air, Did not a sound, proportion'd to their ear, Appease their rage, invite them to the hive, Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive, To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil, Preserved in winter by their summer's toil; They give us food, which may with nectar vie, And wax, that does the absent sun supply.

ON THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH'S EXPEDITION INTO SCOTLAND IN THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.