The Poems of Charles Sackville Sixth Earl of Dorset: Edited by Brice Harris |
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To Sir Thomas St. Serfe: on the Printing his Play Call'd “Tarugo's Wiles”
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 | The Poems of Charles Sackville |  |
5
To Sir Thomas St. Serfe: on the Printing his Play Call'd “Tarugo's Wiles”
Tarugo gave us wonder and delight
When he oblig'd the world by candlelight.
But now he's ventur'd on the face of day,
T'oblige and serve his friends a nobler way,
Make all our old men wits, statesmen the young,
And teach ev'n Englishmen the English tongue.
James, on whose reign all peaceful stars did smile,
Did but attempt th'uniting of our isle.
What kings and nature only cou'd design
Shall be accomplished by this work of thine.
For who is such a Cockney in his heart,
Proud of the plenty of the Southern part,
To scorn that union by which he may
Boast 'twas his countryman that writ this play?
When he oblig'd the world by candlelight.
But now he's ventur'd on the face of day,
T'oblige and serve his friends a nobler way,
Make all our old men wits, statesmen the young,
And teach ev'n Englishmen the English tongue.
James, on whose reign all peaceful stars did smile,
Did but attempt th'uniting of our isle.
What kings and nature only cou'd design
Shall be accomplished by this work of thine.
For who is such a Cockney in his heart,
Proud of the plenty of the Southern part,
To scorn that union by which he may
Boast 'twas his countryman that writ this play?
Phoebus himself, indulgent to thy muse,
Has to thy country sent this kind excuse:
“Fair Northern lass, it is not through neglect
I court thee at a distance, but respect.
I cannot act, my passion is so great,
But I'll make up in light what wants in heat.
On these I will bestow my longest days
And crown thy sons with everlasting bays.
My beams that reach thee shall employ their powers
To ripen souls of men, not fruits or flowers.
Let warmer climes my fading favours boast:
Poets and stars shine brightest in thy frost.”
Has to thy country sent this kind excuse:
6
I court thee at a distance, but respect.
I cannot act, my passion is so great,
But I'll make up in light what wants in heat.
On these I will bestow my longest days
And crown thy sons with everlasting bays.
My beams that reach thee shall employ their powers
To ripen souls of men, not fruits or flowers.
Let warmer climes my fading favours boast:
Poets and stars shine brightest in thy frost.”
| The Poems of Charles Sackville | |