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 |
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TO Sr WILL. D'AVENANT,
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
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TO Sr WILL. D'AVENANT,
Upon his Two first BOOKS of GONDIBERT, Finishd before his Voyage to AMERICA.
Thus
the wise Nightingale that leaves her home,
Her native Wood, when Storms and Winter come,
Pursuing constantly the chearfull Spring,
To forraign Groves does her old Musick bring:
The drooping Hebrews banish'd Harps unstrung
At Babilon, upon the Willowes hung;
Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excell
No less in Courage, then in Singing well;
Whilst unconcern'd you let your Country know,
They have impov'rished themselves, not you;
Who with the Muses help can mock those Fates
Which threaten Kingdomes, and disorder States.
Her native Wood, when Storms and Winter come,
Pursuing constantly the chearfull Spring,
To forraign Groves does her old Musick bring:
The drooping Hebrews banish'd Harps unstrung
At Babilon, upon the Willowes hung;
Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excell
No less in Courage, then in Singing well;
Whilst unconcern'd you let your Country know,
They have impov'rished themselves, not you;
Who with the Muses help can mock those Fates
Which threaten Kingdomes, and disorder States.
So Ovid when from Cæsar's rage he fled,
The Roman Muse to Pontus with him led;
Where he so sung, that We through Pity's Glass,
See Nero milder then Augustus was.
Hereafter such in thy behalf shall be,
Th' indulgent censure of Posterity.
To banish those who with such art can sing,
Is a rude Crime which its own Curse does bring:
Ages to come shall ne'r know how they fought,
Nor how to love their present youth be taught.
This to thy self. Now to thy matchless Book
VVherein those few that can with Judgment look,
May find old Love in pure fresh language told,
Like new stampt Coin made out of Angel-gold.
Such truth in Love as th' antique World did know,
In such a stile as Courts may boast of now
Which no bold tales of Gods or Monsters swell,
But humane Passions, such as with us dwell.
Man is thy theame, his Vertue or his rage.
Drawn to the life in each elaborate Page.
Mars nor Bellona are not named here;
But such a Gondibert as both might fear.
Venus had here, and Hebe been out-shin'd
By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds
Betwixt thy Worthies and the Grecian Gods.
Whose Deity's in vain had here come down,
Where Mortall Beauty wears the Soveraign Crown;
Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood
(Though not resisted) may be understood.
The Roman Muse to Pontus with him led;
Where he so sung, that We through Pity's Glass,
See Nero milder then Augustus was.
Hereafter such in thy behalf shall be,
Th' indulgent censure of Posterity.
To banish those who with such art can sing,
Is a rude Crime which its own Curse does bring:
Ages to come shall ne'r know how they fought,
Nor how to love their present youth be taught.
This to thy self. Now to thy matchless Book
VVherein those few that can with Judgment look,
May find old Love in pure fresh language told,
Like new stampt Coin made out of Angel-gold.
Such truth in Love as th' antique World did know,
In such a stile as Courts may boast of now
29
But humane Passions, such as with us dwell.
Man is thy theame, his Vertue or his rage.
Drawn to the life in each elaborate Page.
Mars nor Bellona are not named here;
But such a Gondibert as both might fear.
Venus had here, and Hebe been out-shin'd
By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds
Betwixt thy Worthies and the Grecian Gods.
Whose Deity's in vain had here come down,
Where Mortall Beauty wears the Soveraign Crown;
Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood
(Though not resisted) may be understood.
ED. WALLER.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |