The Whole Works of Homer Prince of Poetts: In his Iliads, and Odysses. Translated according to the Greeke. By Geo: Chapman |
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The End of the XXIIII. and last Booke of Homers Odysses.
So wrought diuine Vlysses through his woes:
So, croun'd the Light with him; His Mothers Throes;
As through his great Renowner, I haue wrought;
And my safe saile, to sacred Anchor brought.
Nor did the Argiue ship, more burthen feele,
That bore the Care of all men, in her Keele;
Then my aduenturous Barke: The Colchean Fleece,
Not halfe so precious, as this soule of Greece.
In whose songs I haue made our shores reioyce,
And Greeke it selfe veile, to our English voyce.
Yet this inestimable Pearle, wil all
Our Dunghil Chanticheres, but obuious call;
Each Moderne scraper, this Gem scratching by;
His Oate preferring far. Let such, let ly:
So scorne the stars the clouds; as true-soul'd men
Despise Deceiuers. For, as Clouds would faine
Obscure the Stars yet (Regions left below
With all their enuies) bar them but of show;
For they shine euer, and wil shine, when they
Dissolue in sinckes, make Mire, and temper Clay:
So puft Impostors (our Muse-vapours) striue,
With their selfe-blowne additions, to depriue
Men solid, of their full; though infinite short
They come in their compare; and false report
Of leuelling, or touching, at their light,
That still retaine their radiance, and cleere right;
And shal shine euer When, alas, one blast
Of least disgrace, teares downe th' Impostors Mast;
His Tops, and Tacklings; His whole Freight, and He
Confiscate to the Fishy Monarchy;
His trash, by foolish Fame bought now, from hence,
Giuen to serue Mackarell forth, and Frankincence.
So, croun'd the Light with him; His Mothers Throes;
As through his great Renowner, I haue wrought;
And my safe saile, to sacred Anchor brought.
Nor did the Argiue ship, more burthen feele,
That bore the Care of all men, in her Keele;
Then my aduenturous Barke: The Colchean Fleece,
Not halfe so precious, as this soule of Greece.
In whose songs I haue made our shores reioyce,
And Greeke it selfe veile, to our English voyce.
Yet this inestimable Pearle, wil all
Our Dunghil Chanticheres, but obuious call;
Each Moderne scraper, this Gem scratching by;
377
So scorne the stars the clouds; as true-soul'd men
Despise Deceiuers. For, as Clouds would faine
Obscure the Stars yet (Regions left below
With all their enuies) bar them but of show;
For they shine euer, and wil shine, when they
Dissolue in sinckes, make Mire, and temper Clay:
So puft Impostors (our Muse-vapours) striue,
With their selfe-blowne additions, to depriue
Men solid, of their full; though infinite short
They come in their compare; and false report
Of leuelling, or touching, at their light,
That still retaine their radiance, and cleere right;
And shal shine euer When, alas, one blast
Of least disgrace, teares downe th' Impostors Mast;
His Tops, and Tacklings; His whole Freight, and He
Confiscate to the Fishy Monarchy;
His trash, by foolish Fame bought now, from hence,
Giuen to serue Mackarell forth, and Frankincence.
Such then, and any; too soft-ey'd to see
Through workes so solid, any worth, so free
Of all the learn'd professions, as is fit
To praise at such price; let him thinke his wit
Too weake to rate it; rather then oppose
With his poore pow'rs, Ages, and Hosts of Foes.
Through workes so solid, any worth, so free
Of all the learn'd professions, as is fit
To praise at such price; let him thinke his wit
Too weake to rate it; rather then oppose
With his poore pow'rs, Ages, and Hosts of Foes.
| The Whole Works of Homer | |