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The ANTIQUARY.
Upon the Baronage of England, by Sr. Will. Dugdale, Garter-Principal King at Arms.
1677.
A
Selden, or Camden's only fit
To judge, and praise the Works that he has writ.
So noble structures, by rare Artists rais'd,
Should only by Vitruvius rules be prais'd,
Praise is a Tax by Justice-self thought fit;
And every worthy man has claim to it.
Which should as strictly be to merit paid,
As Taxes that by Parliaments are made.
Authentick praises should these Works regard,
Such as at once bring Honour and Reward.
Prodigious were the pains that brought them forth;
By nothing to be equal'd, but their worth.
Here England's rising splendors he has shown,
Till come to Man-hood in its glorious Noon;
—But now alas!—
Small are the shadows of its Evening Sun.
Her honours streams he from the Fountain brings,
Guiding the Current to the lower Springs.
Obstructions in each Channel he does clear;
As if the Law of Sewers govern'd here.
His active knowledge has the searching force
Of Spirits, that can see, and not discourse.
Strange penetrating art! to pierce, like Air,
Each close recess, and ransack all things there.
Rare Learning that reveals as clear as Light,
The secret Treasures both of Time and Night.
Which like the Sun throughout the World can pry,
And is at once to't self both Light and Eye.
In Graves (those shades of Death) now Life is found,
As quickning heat brings Flowers from the Ground.
No Marble Tombs, no Pyramids can hold
From turning like the Dust they did infold.
Names, tho long lost in Rubbish, own his power:
As Chymists can from Ashes raise a Flower.
Of Statues long defac'd, and smooth as Glass,
As in a Chrystal, here he shews the Face.
If any part be left, he can it own:
Hercules here may by his Foot be known.
From stragling characters in worn-out Deeds,
Th' intrigues of ancient Families he reads.
Successions vary'd to and fro agen,
(Alcides-like) he traces to their Den.
Those Families that lost themselves, and run
Into a various succession;
He does reduce to their first Marriage-Bed;
And shews sev'n-chanel'd Nile its Fountain Head.
To judge, and praise the Works that he has writ.
So noble structures, by rare Artists rais'd,
Should only by Vitruvius rules be prais'd,
186
And every worthy man has claim to it.
Which should as strictly be to merit paid,
As Taxes that by Parliaments are made.
Authentick praises should these Works regard,
Such as at once bring Honour and Reward.
Prodigious were the pains that brought them forth;
By nothing to be equal'd, but their worth.
Here England's rising splendors he has shown,
Till come to Man-hood in its glorious Noon;
—But now alas!—
Small are the shadows of its Evening Sun.
Her honours streams he from the Fountain brings,
Guiding the Current to the lower Springs.
Obstructions in each Channel he does clear;
As if the Law of Sewers govern'd here.
His active knowledge has the searching force
Of Spirits, that can see, and not discourse.
Strange penetrating art! to pierce, like Air,
Each close recess, and ransack all things there.
Rare Learning that reveals as clear as Light,
The secret Treasures both of Time and Night.
Which like the Sun throughout the World can pry,
And is at once to't self both Light and Eye.
In Graves (those shades of Death) now Life is found,
As quickning heat brings Flowers from the Ground.
No Marble Tombs, no Pyramids can hold
From turning like the Dust they did infold.
Names, tho long lost in Rubbish, own his power:
As Chymists can from Ashes raise a Flower.
Of Statues long defac'd, and smooth as Glass,
As in a Chrystal, here he shews the Face.
187
Hercules here may by his Foot be known.
From stragling characters in worn-out Deeds,
Th' intrigues of ancient Families he reads.
Successions vary'd to and fro agen,
(Alcides-like) he traces to their Den.
Those Families that lost themselves, and run
Into a various succession;
He does reduce to their first Marriage-Bed;
And shews sev'n-chanel'd Nile its Fountain Head.
For all this cost, but Mortal aid he brings,
As all must do, that write of mortal things.
Tho his efforts are of the strongest rate,
Yet cannot save what is condemn'd by Fate.
Stones thus, that crown a lofty Turret's head,
May pave the Ground for ev'ry foot to tread.
Marbles must moulder, Steel consume with Rust;
Crowns, with their Crowners, all resolve to Dust.
Nor there secure! that very Dust be gone,
Into the vast Abyss of Air be blown;
The sport of Winds who kept the World in fear;
Their Dust as restless as their thoughts were here.
As all must do, that write of mortal things.
Tho his efforts are of the strongest rate,
Yet cannot save what is condemn'd by Fate.
Stones thus, that crown a lofty Turret's head,
May pave the Ground for ev'ry foot to tread.
Marbles must moulder, Steel consume with Rust;
Crowns, with their Crowners, all resolve to Dust.
Nor there secure! that very Dust be gone,
Into the vast Abyss of Air be blown;
The sport of Winds who kept the World in fear;
Their Dust as restless as their thoughts were here.
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