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[It was a beauty that I saw]
Lov.
It was a beauty that I saw
So pure, so perfect, as the frame
Of all the vniuerse was lame,
To that one figure, could I draw,
Or giue least line of it a law!
So pure, so perfect, as the frame
Of all the vniuerse was lame,
To that one figure, could I draw,
Or giue least line of it a law!
A skeine of silke without a knot!
A faire march made without a halt!
A curious forme without a fault!
A printed booke without a blot.
All beauty, and without a spot.
A faire march made without a halt!
A curious forme without a fault!
All beauty, and without a spot.
The iust indignation the Author tooke at the vulgar censure of his Play, by some malicious spectators, begat this following Ode to himselfe.
Come leaue the lothed stage,
And the more lothsome age:
Where pride, and impudence (in faction knit)
Vsurpe the chaire of wit!
Indicting, and arraigning euery day
Something they call a Play.
Let their fastidious, vaine
Commission of the braine
Run on, and rage, sweat, censure, and condem'n:
They were not made for thee, lesse, thou for them.
And the more lothsome age:
Where pride, and impudence (in faction knit)
Vsurpe the chaire of wit!
Indicting, and arraigning euery day
Something they call a Play.
Let their fastidious, vaine
Commission of the braine
Run on, and rage, sweat, censure, and condem'n:
They were not made for thee, lesse, thou for them.
Say, that thou pour'st them wheat,
And they will acornes eat:
'Twere simple fury, still, thy selfe to waste
On such as haue no taste!
To offer them a surfet of pure bread,
Whose appetites are dead!
No, giue them graines their fill,
Huskes, draffe to drinke, and swill.
If they loue lees, and leaue the lusty wine,
Enuy them not their palate's, with the swine.
And they will acornes eat:
'Twere simple fury, still, thy selfe to waste
On such as haue no taste!
To offer them a surfet of pure bread,
Whose appetites are dead!
No, giue them graines their fill,
Huskes, draffe to drinke, and swill.
If they loue lees, and leaue the lusty wine,
Enuy them not their palate's, with the swine.
No doubt some mouldy tale,
Like Pericles; and stale
As the Shrieues crusts, and nasty as his fish-
scraps, out euery dish,
Throwne forth, and rak't into the common tub,
May keepe vp the Play-club:
There, sweepings doe as well
As the best order'd meale.
For, who the relish of these ghests will fit,
Needs set them, but, the almes-basket of wit.
Like Pericles; and stale
As the Shrieues crusts, and nasty as his fish-
scraps, out euery dish,
Throwne forth, and rak't into the common tub,
May keepe vp the Play-club:
There, sweepings doe as well
As the best order'd meale.
For, who the relish of these ghests will fit,
Needs set them, but, the almes-basket of wit.
And much good do't you then:
Braue plush, and veluet-men;
Can feed on orts: And safe in your stage-clothes,
Dare quit, vpon your oathes,
The stagers, and the stage-wrights too (your peeres)
Of larding your large eares
With their foule comick socks;
Wrought vpon twenty blocks:
Which, if they are torne, and turn'd, & patch't enough,
The gamesters share your guilt, and you their stuffe.
Braue plush, and veluet-men;
Can feed on orts: And safe in your stage-clothes,
Dare quit, vpon your oathes,
The stagers, and the stage-wrights too (your peeres)
Of larding your large eares
With their foule comick socks;
Wrought vpon twenty blocks:
Which, if they are torne, and turn'd, & patch't enough,
The gamesters share your guilt, and you their stuffe.
Leaue things so prostitute,
And take the Alcaick Lute;
Or thine owne Horace, or Anacreons Lyre;
Warme thee, by Pindares fire:
And though thy nerues be shrunke, and blood be cold,
Ere yeares haue made thee old;
Strike that disdaine-full heate
Throughout, to their defeate:
As curious fooles, and enuious of thy straine,
May, blushing, sweare no palsey's in thy braine.
And take the Alcaick Lute;
Or thine owne Horace, or Anacreons Lyre;
Warme thee, by Pindares fire:
And though thy nerues be shrunke, and blood be cold,
Ere yeares haue made thee old;
Strike that disdaine-full heate
Throughout, to their defeate:
As curious fooles, and enuious of thy straine,
May, blushing, sweare no palsey's in thy braine.
But, when they heare thee sing
The glories of thy King,
His zeale to God, and his iust awe o're men;
They may, blood shaken, then,
Feele such a flesh-quake to possesse their powers:
As they shall cry, like ours
In sound of peace, or warres,
No Harpe ere hit the starres;
In tuning forth the acts of his sweet raigne:
And raysing Charles his chariot, 'boue his Waine.
The glories of thy King,
His zeale to God, and his iust awe o're men;
They may, blood shaken, then,
Feele such a flesh-quake to possesse their powers:
As they shall cry, like ours
In sound of peace, or warres,
No Harpe ere hit the starres;
In tuning forth the acts of his sweet raigne:
And raysing Charles his chariot, 'boue his Waine.
The end.
| [Extracted poems] | |