The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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On the Death of Mr. Dryden.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
On the Death of Mr. Dryden.
Farewel! thou Chiefest of the Sons of Fame!
Ev'n I, who formerly presum'd to blame,
Now change my Stile, and Celebrate thy Name:
Not that I wrote with Prejudice, or Spite,
But might too warmly vindicate the Right.—
But die thy Fau'ts and mine;—and with 'em die
All Tub-Disputes and Church-Hostility.
The Seamless Coat, by our Divisions torn,
Is by the Py-bald Sects in Patches worn;
Each has it's Rent (and they no more require)
Which we, agreeing, shou'd preserve intire.
Ev'n I, who formerly presum'd to blame,
Now change my Stile, and Celebrate thy Name:
Not that I wrote with Prejudice, or Spite,
But might too warmly vindicate the Right.—
But die thy Fau'ts and mine;—and with 'em die
All Tub-Disputes and Church-Hostility.
The Seamless Coat, by our Divisions torn,
Is by the Py-bald Sects in Patches worn;
Each has it's Rent (and they no more require)
Which we, agreeing, shou'd preserve intire.
The Way thus clear'd, Lo! Noble Ghost, I come,
The meanest of thy Train, to sing Thee home;
The Triumphs of the NUMBERS to proclaim,
Hoary with Praises, and oppress'd with Fame!
The meanest of thy Train, to sing Thee home;
The Triumphs of the NUMBERS to proclaim,
Hoary with Praises, and oppress'd with Fame!
Yet, tho' to Honour thee we all agree,
What can we add to thy Repute, or Thee?
Short liv'd and vain is all th'Applause we give;
Our Lines must die, and only Yours will live.
What can we add to thy Repute, or Thee?
Short liv'd and vain is all th'Applause we give;
Our Lines must die, and only Yours will live.
When Homer (who is now thy nearest Mate)
Was call'd from Earth to his Immortal State,
That Life and Glory with the Gods to share,
Which has been since so celebrated Here;
The Youth of Greece, no doubt, as one did joyn,
All Grateful to his Fame, as we to Thine:
It ev'ry Breast did warm to an Extreme,
To be the first on such a Glorious Theme:
Yet not a Name, and not a Line (we see)
Of all they Writ has reach'd Posterity:
His vastly louder Fame has theirs engrost,
As Human Voices are in Thunder lost:
The Greater Blaze of Light the less o'er pow'rs,
And so thy Verse will once Extinguish Ours.
Was call'd from Earth to his Immortal State,
That Life and Glory with the Gods to share,
Which has been since so celebrated Here;
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All Grateful to his Fame, as we to Thine:
It ev'ry Breast did warm to an Extreme,
To be the first on such a Glorious Theme:
Yet not a Name, and not a Line (we see)
Of all they Writ has reach'd Posterity:
His vastly louder Fame has theirs engrost,
As Human Voices are in Thunder lost:
The Greater Blaze of Light the less o'er pow'rs,
And so thy Verse will once Extinguish Ours.
He 'twas that did the Grecian Lang'uage rear
To all the Strength and Loftiness 'twou'd bear.
The Latin Virgil seated in the Skies,
And beyond which it cou'd no higher rise.
And YOU, the Third, have brought the British Tongue
To run as Copious, and to last as long:
Made by thy Purity of Phrase and Sense
Not Capable of further Excellence.
So GOD his Bounds to the wide Ocean laid,
And told it—Hither come—and here be staid.
To all the Strength and Loftiness 'twou'd bear.
The Latin Virgil seated in the Skies,
And beyond which it cou'd no higher rise.
And YOU, the Third, have brought the British Tongue
To run as Copious, and to last as long:
Made by thy Purity of Phrase and Sense
Not Capable of further Excellence.
So GOD his Bounds to the wide Ocean laid,
And told it—Hither come—and here be staid.
This Fate beside peculiarly you bear,
In which no Writer ever yet cou'd share:
You saw, your self, your Empire fixt in Peace,
And grown so large as not to admit increase:
Where e'er their Verse prevail'd, you liv'd to know
Your own Receiv'd alike Triumphant too!
Diffusing Wit, and giving Wings to Fame,
There where the Roman Eagles never came.
In which no Writer ever yet cou'd share:
You saw, your self, your Empire fixt in Peace,
And grown so large as not to admit increase:
Where e'er their Verse prevail'd, you liv'd to know
Your own Receiv'd alike Triumphant too!
Diffusing Wit, and giving Wings to Fame,
There where the Roman Eagles never came.
Scarce did thy Phœbus soar a Nobler Pitch
Than what thy own Aspiring Notes cou'd reach:
They did not Strain to rise, or faintly fly,
But with a Seraph's Pinion wing'd the Sky:
While list'ning Angels did thy Lays admire,
And wish thee there in the Celestial Quire,
Thy Human with their Heav'nly Songs to joyn,
To make the Concert perfectly Divine.
Than what thy own Aspiring Notes cou'd reach:
They did not Strain to rise, or faintly fly,
But with a Seraph's Pinion wing'd the Sky:
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And wish thee there in the Celestial Quire,
Thy Human with their Heav'nly Songs to joyn,
To make the Concert perfectly Divine.
To grieve were vain! we cannot call thee lost;
While Britain stands Thou shalt be Britain's boast.
Tho' thy Immortal Mind's retir'd—we find
A no less Everlasting Part behind:
Your Works and you by a Stupendious Doom,
Like Janus, may to Deity presume;
Thou there see'st all that's past, and they'll see all to come.
While Britain stands Thou shalt be Britain's boast.
Tho' thy Immortal Mind's retir'd—we find
A no less Everlasting Part behind:
Your Works and you by a Stupendious Doom,
Like Janus, may to Deity presume;
Thou there see'st all that's past, and they'll see all to come.
'Twas then we sigh'd when Otway, from us torn,
Made all the Swains and all the Muses mourn;
Otway! who more than any of his Age
Did charm the Audience, and adorn the Stage.
'Twas then we Sigh'd when Fatal Frenzy Seiz'd
Thy Faithful Lee—who never Writ but Pleas'd:
Tho' cooler Pens his Youthful Ardour blame,
Without his Fire they'll never reach his Fame.
'Twas then we sigh'd when Oldham fell a Prey,
Cropt by a fatal Blight before his Day:
His Loss we all did with Impatience bear,
And thou thy self hast crown'd his Memo'ry with a Tear.
So we again shou'd sigh, shou'd Congreve be
An early Instance of Mortality;
And the expecting World (so seldom kind)
Lose all the Wonders that are yet behind,
In the unbounded Treasures of his Mind.
So shou'd we mourn if Southerne left the Stage,
So just to Comick Wit and Tragick Rage:
Southerne! who Singing Oroonoko's Flame,
Has made his own a like immortal Name.
But THEE 'twere almost impious to deplore,
We had thee all! and Fate cou'd give no more:
With Peace, Applause, with Years and Lawrels Crown'd,
And Life, nor Fame cou'd make Thee more Renown'd.
Made all the Swains and all the Muses mourn;
Otway! who more than any of his Age
Did charm the Audience, and adorn the Stage.
'Twas then we Sigh'd when Fatal Frenzy Seiz'd
Thy Faithful Lee—who never Writ but Pleas'd:
Tho' cooler Pens his Youthful Ardour blame,
Without his Fire they'll never reach his Fame.
'Twas then we sigh'd when Oldham fell a Prey,
Cropt by a fatal Blight before his Day:
His Loss we all did with Impatience bear,
And thou thy self hast crown'd his Memo'ry with a Tear.
So we again shou'd sigh, shou'd Congreve be
An early Instance of Mortality;
And the expecting World (so seldom kind)
Lose all the Wonders that are yet behind,
In the unbounded Treasures of his Mind.
So shou'd we mourn if Southerne left the Stage,
So just to Comick Wit and Tragick Rage:
Southerne! who Singing Oroonoko's Flame,
Has made his own a like immortal Name.
But THEE 'twere almost impious to deplore,
We had thee all! and Fate cou'd give no more:
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And Life, nor Fame cou'd make Thee more Renown'd.
And be Renown'd!—let different Minds agree,
At least, Prodigious Bard! in Praising Thee!
So far thou all Beliefs dost reconcile;
In this there's no Dissenter in the Isle.
But O! what GOD can reconcile the Rest,
Our Prejudice, our Pride, and Interest!
Our SAVIOUR Preaches Peace, but none obey;
Too eager, most, to mark how others stray,
When a Good Life can never miss the Way.
At least, Prodigious Bard! in Praising Thee!
So far thou all Beliefs dost reconcile;
In this there's no Dissenter in the Isle.
But O! what GOD can reconcile the Rest,
Our Prejudice, our Pride, and Interest!
Our SAVIOUR Preaches Peace, but none obey;
Too eager, most, to mark how others stray,
When a Good Life can never miss the Way.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |