Posthumous Works of Dr. George Sewell ... To which are added Poems on Several Occasions, Published in his Life-Time |
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To the Author of a Novel, entitled, The
Amours
of
Bosvil
and
Galesia.
|
 | Posthumous Works of Dr. George Sewell |  |
47
To the Author of a Novel, entitled, The Amours of Bosvil and Galesia.
Condemn me not, Galesia, Fair unknown,
If I, to praise Thee, first my Error own;
A partial View and Prejudice of Fame
Slighted thy Pages for the Novel's Name:
Methought I scorn'd of Nymphs and Knights to dream
And all the Trifles of a Love-Tale Scheme;
Poor dry Romances of a tortur'd Brain,
Where we see none but the Composer's Pain.
Thus I, by former Rules of Judgment led,
But soon my Fault recanted as I read.
If I, to praise Thee, first my Error own;
A partial View and Prejudice of Fame
Slighted thy Pages for the Novel's Name:
Methought I scorn'd of Nymphs and Knights to dream
And all the Trifles of a Love-Tale Scheme;
Poor dry Romances of a tortur'd Brain,
Where we see none but the Composer's Pain.
Thus I, by former Rules of Judgment led,
But soon my Fault recanted as I read.
So by false Seers misdoubting Men betray'd,
Are often of the real Guide afraid;
But when by Proof convinc'd they lend an Ear,
Their Truths Diviner from their Foils appear.
Are often of the real Guide afraid;
48
Their Truths Diviner from their Foils appear.
Who now can bear their stiff affected Vein,
Their Loves, their Cupids, and the idle Train,
Which Fools are pleas'd with, and which Madmen feign?
When Here he may with juster Wonder view
The Charms of Nature, and those painted true.
By what strange Springs our real Passions move,
How vain are all Disguises when we Love;
What Wiles and Stratagems the Men secure,
And what the tortur'd Female Hearts endure;
Compell'd to stifle what they feign would tell,
While Truth commands, but Honour must rebel.
Their Loves, their Cupids, and the idle Train,
Which Fools are pleas'd with, and which Madmen feign?
When Here he may with juster Wonder view
The Charms of Nature, and those painted true.
By what strange Springs our real Passions move,
How vain are all Disguises when we Love;
What Wiles and Stratagems the Men secure,
And what the tortur'd Female Hearts endure;
Compell'd to stifle what they feign would tell,
While Truth commands, but Honour must rebel.
All this, so well, so naturally drest,
At once with Wit and Innocence exprest,
So true appears, so just, and yet so plain,
We mourn thy Sorrows, and we feel thy Pain.
None here is like thy false Dissembler found,
All Pity Thee but He who gave the Wound.
At once with Wit and Innocence exprest,
So true appears, so just, and yet so plain,
We mourn thy Sorrows, and we feel thy Pain.
49
All Pity Thee but He who gave the Wound.
And yet the perjur'd Swain, Galesia, spare,
Nor urge on Vengeance with a hasty Pray'r;
Tho' much He merits it, since all agree
Enough He's Punish'd in his losing Thee.
Nor urge on Vengeance with a hasty Pray'r;
Tho' much He merits it, since all agree
Enough He's Punish'd in his losing Thee.
| Posthumous Works of Dr. George Sewell | |