Poems and Songs by Thomas Flatman. The Fourth Edition with many Additions and Amendments |
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TO THE Excellent Master of MUSICK SEIGNIOR PIETRO REGGIO,
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 | Poems and Songs |  |
189
TO THE Excellent Master of MUSICK SEIGNIOR PIETRO REGGIO,
On His Book of SONGS.
Tho to advance thy Fame, full well I know
How very little my dull Pen can do;
Yet, with all deference, I gladly wait,
Enthrong'd amongst th' attendants on thy State:
Thus when Arion, by his Friends betray'd,
Upon his Understanding-Dolphin play'd,
The Scaly People their Resentments show'd
By pleas'd Levaltoes on the wondring sloud.
How very little my dull Pen can do;
Yet, with all deference, I gladly wait,
Enthrong'd amongst th' attendants on thy State:
Thus when Arion, by his Friends betray'd,
Upon his Understanding-Dolphin play'd,
The Scaly People their Resentments show'd
By pleas'd Levaltoes on the wondring sloud.
Great Artist! Thou deserv'st our loudest Praise
From th' Garland to the meanest branch of Bays;
For Poets can but Say, Thou mak'st them Sing,
And th' Embrio-words dost to Perfection bring;
By us the Muse conceives, but when that's done,
Thy Midwifry makes fit to see the Sun;
Our naked Lines, drest, and adorn'd by Thee,
Assume a Beauty, Pomp, and Bravery;
So awful and majestick they appear,
They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear.
Princes tho to poor Poets seldom kind,
Their Numbers turn'd to Air, with pleasure mind.
Studied and labour'd tho our Poems be
Alas! they die unheeded without Thee,
Whose Art can make our breathless Labours live,
Spirit and everlasting Vigour give.
Whether we write of Heroes and of Kings,
In Mighty Numbers, Mighty Things,
Or in an humble Ode express our Sense
Of th' happy state of Ease and Innocence;
A Country Life where the contented Swain
Hugs his Dear Peace, and does a Crown disdain;
Thy dextrous Notes with all our Thoughts comply,
Can creep on Earth, can up to Heaven flie;
In Heights and Cadences, so sweet, so strong.
They suit a Shepherds Reed, an Angels Tongue.
—But who can comprehend
The raptures of thy voice, and miracles of thy hand?
From th' Garland to the meanest branch of Bays;
190
And th' Embrio-words dost to Perfection bring;
By us the Muse conceives, but when that's done,
Thy Midwifry makes fit to see the Sun;
Our naked Lines, drest, and adorn'd by Thee,
Assume a Beauty, Pomp, and Bravery;
So awful and majestick they appear,
They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear.
Princes tho to poor Poets seldom kind,
Their Numbers turn'd to Air, with pleasure mind.
Studied and labour'd tho our Poems be
Alas! they die unheeded without Thee,
Whose Art can make our breathless Labours live,
Spirit and everlasting Vigour give.
Whether we write of Heroes and of Kings,
In Mighty Numbers, Mighty Things,
Or in an humble Ode express our Sense
Of th' happy state of Ease and Innocence;
A Country Life where the contented Swain
Hugs his Dear Peace, and does a Crown disdain;
191
Can creep on Earth, can up to Heaven flie;
In Heights and Cadences, so sweet, so strong.
They suit a Shepherds Reed, an Angels Tongue.
—But who can comprehend
The raptures of thy voice, and miracles of thy hand?
| Poems and Songs | |