The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts By the Author of the Trip to Jamaica [i.e. Edward Ward] |
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To the Pious Memory of the most Subline and Accurate Mr. John Dryden.
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 | The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts |  |
421
To the Pious Memory of the most Subline and Accurate Mr. John Dryden.
To those blest unknown distant Regions, where
Great Pindar, Homer, and sweet Virgil Live,
The Immortal DRYDEN's fled; and justly there,
His Nervous Poems does with theirs compare,
Whilst more discerning Gods to Him the Lawrel. give.
Great Pindar, Homer, and sweet Virgil Live,
The Immortal DRYDEN's fled; and justly there,
His Nervous Poems does with theirs compare,
Whilst more discerning Gods to Him the Lawrel. give.
May Envy let His Dust in Quiet Sleep:
And Fame Eternal in his Volumes dwell:
Whilst Chaucer's Sacred Tomb his Ashes keep,
Ages shall o'er his Golden Writings Weep:
And thus the melting Force of his strong Lines shall feel.
And Fame Eternal in his Volumes dwell:
Whilst Chaucer's Sacred Tomb his Ashes keep,
Ages shall o'er his Golden Writings Weep:
And thus the melting Force of his strong Lines shall feel.
Great was his Learning, and Sublime his Thoughts,
Powerful his Numbers, Matchless was his Wit:
Num'rous his Excellencies, few his Faults:
And those he plac'd as Foils and Beauty-Spots,
To give more sprightly Lustre to the Lines he Writ.
Powerful his Numbers, Matchless was his Wit:
Num'rous his Excellencies, few his Faults:
And those he plac'd as Foils and Beauty-Spots,
To give more sprightly Lustre to the Lines he Writ.
422
His Soul was sure some God wrap't up in Clay,
From Heaven descended, to Inform Mankind:
Whose mighty Genius did no Time delay:
But most Industriously Improv'd each day,
To shew the World the Beauties of his fruitful Mind.
From Heaven descended, to Inform Mankind:
Whose mighty Genius did no Time delay:
But most Industriously Improv'd each day,
To shew the World the Beauties of his fruitful Mind.
No Ancient Muse in Greece or Room e'er bred,
Could Sweeter, or more God-like Strains impart:
The Heav'nly Soul's unborn that can Exceed
Those soft Enchantments in his Verse we Read:
Where we find Nature heighten'd with the purest Art.
Could Sweeter, or more God-like Strains impart:
The Heav'nly Soul's unborn that can Exceed
Those soft Enchantments in his Verse we Read:
Where we find Nature heighten'd with the purest Art.
Envious Competitors, the worst of Foes,
His Pen hath Conquer'd, that they can't but own
He so excell'd in Poetry and Prose,
That each great Task indisputably shows,
None was like him inspir'd; his Equal's yet unknown.
His Pen hath Conquer'd, that they can't but own
He so excell'd in Poetry and Prose,
That each great Task indisputably shows,
None was like him inspir'd; his Equal's yet unknown.
The chiefest Glory of his Native Land,
Whose Soul such large Angelick Gifts possest,
'Twas hard to think that any Humane Hand,
Could such Bold Stroaks, such Lofty Flights command;
Yet harder to determine what he Writ was best.
Whose Soul such large Angelick Gifts possest,
'Twas hard to think that any Humane Hand,
Could such Bold Stroaks, such Lofty Flights command;
Yet harder to determine what he Writ was best.
Satyr and Praise flow'd Equal from his Pen,
Dramatick Rules no Shakespear ever knew:
The Stately Epich and the Lyrick strain,
In each he had so excellent a Vein,
That from the best of Judges admiration drew.
Dramatick Rules no Shakespear ever knew:
The Stately Epich and the Lyrick strain,
In each he had so excellent a Vein,
That from the best of Judges admiration drew.
423
Great King of-Verse, whose Merit rais'd thee high,
And won thy Brows fresh Lawrel Crowns each Day:
Thy Works Immortal are, and cannot Dye:
Why not thy self exempt from Fate, O why?
Unless the Worlds unworthy of thy longer stay.
And won thy Brows fresh Lawrel Crowns each Day:
Thy Works Immortal are, and cannot Dye:
Why not thy self exempt from Fate, O why?
Unless the Worlds unworthy of thy longer stay.
Or was it cause thy Soul was so Divine,
The Barren Earth could not her Fruits reward;
Or that the Power and Beauty of each Line,
Made thee, the Author, like a Deity shine,
And that the Gods foresaw, like them, thould'st be Ador'd?
The Barren Earth could not her Fruits reward;
Or that the Power and Beauty of each Line,
Made thee, the Author, like a Deity shine,
And that the Gods foresaw, like them, thould'st be Ador'd?
Or did the Slights of an Ingrateful Age,
Hasten th'aspiring Soul to take its Flight;
And leave this Worthless Sublunary Stage,
Where Pride and Lust do Mortal Minds engage,
And keep the Giddy World from doing Merit right?
Hasten th'aspiring Soul to take its Flight;
And leave this Worthless Sublunary Stage,
Where Pride and Lust do Mortal Minds engage,
And keep the Giddy World from doing Merit right?
What call'd thee hence, or whither thou wilt Soar,
None but Eternity it self can tell,
We know for Mankind thou canst do no more,
But Heaven for thee has its best Joys in Store,
To recompence those Tasks thou hast perform'd so well.
None but Eternity it self can tell,
We know for Mankind thou canst do no more,
But Heaven for thee has its best Joys in Store,
To recompence those Tasks thou hast perform'd so well.
Let every Pen more Worthy of the Theme,
Thy Elegy or Epicedium Sing,
The Mournful Verse may equal the Esteem
The Learn'd and Witty shou'd express for them,
Who did to Human Knowledge such Improvements bring.
Thy Elegy or Epicedium Sing,
The Mournful Verse may equal the Esteem
The Learn'd and Witty shou'd express for them,
Who did to Human Knowledge such Improvements bring.
424
Great Soul! No Pen less Powerful than thy own,
Can thy deserv'd Immortal Praise set forth,
Which Time will Magnifie when thou art gone,
As every Age successively comes on:
And to Mankind discover by degrees thy Worth.
Can thy deserv'd Immortal Praise set forth,
Which Time will Magnifie when thou art gone,
As every Age successively comes on:
And to Mankind discover by degrees thy Worth.
Could Dust be sensible within the Grave,
How Joyful would thy Peaceful Neighbours be,
Such Venerable Company to have,
Whose Meritorious Works will surely save
Thy Mem'ry from decay to all Eternity.
How Joyful would thy Peaceful Neighbours be,
Such Venerable Company to have,
Whose Meritorious Works will surely save
Thy Mem'ry from decay to all Eternity.
Chaucer and Cowley, gladly would Receive
Thy Frozen Clay, into their silent Tomb:
Desiring their Applause with yours might Live,
In hopes your Fame Eternity might give
To theirs, and that your Lawrels might together Bloom.
Thy Frozen Clay, into their silent Tomb:
Desiring their Applause with yours might Live,
In hopes your Fame Eternity might give
To theirs, and that your Lawrels might together Bloom.
Since Fate to Wisemens Grief has call'd thee hence:
It justly in thy Absence may be said,
No Grecian Bard e'er show'd such Excellence,
None has so well bestow'd such Reams of Sence,
As the Great Dryden hath; but now, alas, he's Dead.
It justly in thy Absence may be said,
No Grecian Bard e'er show'd such Excellence,
None has so well bestow'd such Reams of Sence,
As the Great Dryden hath; but now, alas, he's Dead.
For such an Universal Loss sustain'd,
May the like Sorrow thro' the World be shown;
Let every thing in Nature be Constrain'd
To Weep, let full-charg'd Clouds assistance lend,
And Flaming Orbs above their Fiery Tears drop down.
May the like Sorrow thro' the World be shown;
Let every thing in Nature be Constrain'd
To Weep, let full-charg'd Clouds assistance lend,
And Flaming Orbs above their Fiery Tears drop down.
| The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts | |