The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
 |
|
 | 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
201
To my worthy Friend Mr. William D'avenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar, which he writ to the most Illustrious Prince Rupert.
I am compell'd by your commands to writeI'th' Frontis-piece of this, and sure I might
With quaint conceits, here to the World set forth
The merit of the Poem, and your worth;
Had I well fancy'd reasons to begin;
And a choyce Mould, to cast good Verses in:
But wanting these, what power (alas) have I
To write of any thing? will men rely
On my opinion? which in Verse, or Prose,
Hath just that credit, which we give to those
That sagely whisper, secrets of the Court.
Having but Lees, for Essence, from Report.
And that's the knowledge which belongs to me;
For by what's said, I guess at Poetry.
As when I hear them read strong-lines I cry:
Th'are rare, but cannot tell you rightly why:
And now I finde this quality was it,
That made some Poet cite me for a wit:
Now God forgive him for that huge mistake!
If he did know; but with what paines I make
A Verse, hee'ld pittie then my wretched case;
For at the birth of each, I twist my Face,
As if I drew a Tooth; I blot, and write,
Then look as pale, as some that go to fight:
With the whole Kennel of the Alphabet,
I hunt sometimes an hour, one Rime to get:
What I approv'd of once, I streight deny,
Like an unconstant Prince, then give the lye
To my own invention, which is so poor,
As here I'de kiss your hands, and say no more;
Had I not seen a childe with Sizors cut,
A folded Paper unto which was put
More chance then skill, yet when you open it,
You'd think it had been done, by Art and Wit:
So I (perhaps) may light upon some straine,
Which may in this your good opinion gaine;
And howsoever, if it be a plot
You may be certain that in this, y'have got
A foyle to set your Jewel off, which comes
From Madagascar, scenting of rich gummes;
Before the which, my lay conceits will smell,
Like an abortive Chick, destroy'd i'th' shell:
Yet something I must say, may it prove fit;
I'le do the best I can and this is it.
What lofty fancy was't possest your braine,
And caus'd you soare into so high a straine!
202
Excel what we have had, from Rome or Greece?
Or did your strive, to leave it as a Friend
To speak your praises, when there is an end
Of your Mortality? if you did so,
Envy will then, scarce find you out a Foe:
But let me tell you (Friend) the heightning came,
From the reflection of Prince Rupert's name;
Whose glorious Genius cast into your Soul,
Divine conceits, such as are fit t'inrole
In great Apollo's court, there to remain
For future ages to transcribe again:
For such a Poem, in so sweet a stile,
As yet was never landed on this Isle:
And could I speak your praises at each Pore,
Twere little for the work; it merits more.
Endimion Porter.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |