Olor Iscanus A Collection of some Select Poems, and Translations, Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist. Published by a Friend |
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Upon the Poems and Playes of the ever memorable Mr. William Cartwright. |
 | Olor Iscanus |  |
Upon the Poems and Playes of the ever memorable Mr. William Cartwright.
I did but see thee! and how vain it is
To vex thee for it with Remonstrances,
Though things in fashion, let those Judge, who sit
Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit,
I fear to Sinne thus neer thee; for (great Saint!)
'Tis known, true beauty hath no need of paint.
To vex thee for it with Remonstrances,
Though things in fashion, let those Judge, who sit
Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit,
I fear to Sinne thus neer thee; for (great Saint!)
'Tis known, true beauty hath no need of paint.
Yet, since a Labell fixt to thy fair Hearse
Is all the Mode, and tears put into Verse
Can teach Posterity our present griefe
And their own losse, but never give reliefe;
I'le tell them (and a truth which needs no passe,)
That wit in Cartwright at her Zenith was,
Arts, Fancy, Language, all Conven'd in thee,
With those grand Miracles which deifie
The old worlds Writings, kept yet from the fire,
Because they force these worst times to admire.
Thy matchless Genius, in all thou didst write,
Like the Sun, wrought with such stayd beat, and light,
That not a line (to the most Critick he)
Offends with flashes, or obscuritie.
Is all the Mode, and tears put into Verse
Can teach Posterity our present griefe
And their own losse, but never give reliefe;
I'le tell them (and a truth which needs no passe,)
That wit in Cartwright at her Zenith was,
Arts, Fancy, Language, all Conven'd in thee,
With those grand Miracles which deifie
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Because they force these worst times to admire.
Thy matchless Genius, in all thou didst write,
Like the Sun, wrought with such stayd beat, and light,
That not a line (to the most Critick he)
Offends with flashes, or obscuritie.
When thou the wild of humours trackst, thy pen
So Imitates that Motley stock in men,
As if thou hadst in all their bosomes been,
And seen those Leopards that lurk within.
The am'rous Youth steals from thy Courtly page
His vow'd Addresse, the Souldier his brave rage;
And those soft beauteous Readers whose looks can
Make some men Poets, and make any man
A Lover, when thy Slave but seems to dye,
Turn all his Mourners, and melt at the Eye.
Thus, thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a strain
As doth not only speak, but rule and raign,
Nor are those bodyes they assum'd, dark Clouds,
Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
Which who lookes on, the Rayes so strongly beat
They'l brushe and warm him with a quickning heat,
So Souls shine at the Eyes, and Pearls display
Through the loose-Chrystal-streams a glaunce of day.
But what's all this unto a Royall Test?
Thou art the Man, whom great Charles so exprest!
Then let the Crowd refrain their needless humme,
When Thunder speaks, then Squibs and Winds are dumb.
So Imitates that Motley stock in men,
As if thou hadst in all their bosomes been,
And seen those Leopards that lurk within.
The am'rous Youth steals from thy Courtly page
His vow'd Addresse, the Souldier his brave rage;
And those soft beauteous Readers whose looks can
Make some men Poets, and make any man
A Lover, when thy Slave but seems to dye,
Turn all his Mourners, and melt at the Eye.
Thus, thou thy thoughts hast drest in such a strain
As doth not only speak, but rule and raign,
Nor are those bodyes they assum'd, dark Clouds,
Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
Which who lookes on, the Rayes so strongly beat
They'l brushe and warm him with a quickning heat,
So Souls shine at the Eyes, and Pearls display
Through the loose-Chrystal-streams a glaunce of day.
But what's all this unto a Royall Test?
Thou art the Man, whom great Charles so exprest!
Then let the Crowd refrain their needless humme,
When Thunder speaks, then Squibs and Winds are dumb.
| Olor Iscanus | |