 | The Works of Mr. John Oldham |  |
DAMON,
an ECLOGUE On the untimely Death of Mr. Oldham.
Corydon. Alexis.
Beneath a dismal Yew the Shepherds sate,
And talk'd of Damon's Muse and Damon's Fate:
Their mutual Lamentations gave them Ease;
For sometimes Melancholy it self does please:
Like Philomel abandon'd to distress,
Yet ev'n their Griefs in Musick they express.
Cor.
And talk'd of Damon's Muse and Damon's Fate:
Their mutual Lamentations gave them Ease;
For sometimes Melancholy it self does please:
Like Philomel abandon'd to distress,
Yet ev'n their Griefs in Musick they express.
I'll sing no more since Verses want a Charm,
The Muses could not their own Damon arm:
Unless, like Orpheus, I could Shades restore.
A.
Rather, like Orpheus, celebrate your Friend,
And with your Musick Hell it self suspend:
Tax Proserpine of Cruelty and Hate,
And sing of Damon's Muse, and Damon's Fate.
C.
When Damon sung, he sung with such a Grace,
Lord, how the very London-brutes did gaze!
Sharp was his Satyr, nor allay'd with Gall;
'Twas Rage, 'twas generous Indignation all.
A.
Oh had he liv'd, and to Perfection grown,
Not like Marcellus, only to be shown;
He would have charm'd their Sence a nobler way,
Taught Virgins how to sigh, and Priests to pray.
C.
Let Priests and Virgins then to him address,
And in their Songs their Gratitude express,
While we that know the Worth of easie Verse,
Secure the Laurel to adorn his Herse.
A.
Codrus, you know, that sacred Badge does wear,
And 'twere injurious not to leave it there;
But since no Merit can strike Envy dumb,
Do you with Baccar, guard and grace his Tomb.
C.
While you (dear Swain) with unaffected Rhime,
Majestick, sad, and suited to the Time,
His Name to future Ages consecrate,
By praising of his Muse, and mourning of his Fate.
A.
Alas, I never must pretend to this,
My Pipe scarce knows a Tune but what is his:
Let future Ages then for Damon's sake,
From his own Works a just Idæa take.
And from his meanest part his Size be known.
C.
'Twill be your Duty then to set it down.
A.
Once and but once (so Heav'n and Fate ordain)
I met the gentle Youth upon the Plain,
Kindly, cries he, if you Alexis be,
And though I know you not you must be he,
Too long already we have Strangers been;
This Day, at least, our Friendship must begin.
Let Business, that perverse Intruder, wait,
To be above it is poetical and great.
Then with Assyrian Nard our Heads did shine,
While rich Sabæan Spice exalts the Wine;
Which to a just Degree our Spirits fir'd;
But he was by a greater God inspir'd:
Wit was the Theme, which he did well describe,
With Modesty unusual to his Tribe.
But as with ominous Doubts, and aking Heart,
When Lovers after first Enjoyment part,
Not half content; for this was but a Taste,
And wond'ring how the Minutes flew so fast,
They vow a Friendship that shall ever last.
So we—but Oh how much am I accurs'd!
To think that this last Office is my first.
| The Works of Mr. John Oldham | |