Poems By the most deservedly Admired Mrs Katherine Philips: The matchless Orinda. To which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace Tragedies. With several other Translations out of French |
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On the Welch Language.
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On the Welch Language.
If Honour to an ancient Name be due,Or Riches challenge it for one that's new,
The British Language claims in either sense,
Both for its Age, and for its Opulence.
But all great things must be from us remov'd,
To be with higher reverence belov'd.
So Landskips which in Prospects distant lye,
With greater wonder draw the pleased Eye.
Is not great Troy to one dark ruine hurl'd?
Once the fam'd Scene of all the fighting world.
Where's Athens now, to whom Rome Learning owes,
And the safe Lawrels that adorn'd her brows?
A strange reverse of Fate she did endure,
Never once greater, than she's now obscure.
E'ne Rome herself can but some footsteps show
Of Scipio's times, or those of Cicero.
And as the Roman and the Grecian State,
The British fell, the spoil of Time and Fate.
But though the Language hath the beauty lost,
Yet she has still some great Remains to boast
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In deathless Numbers did their thoughts unfold.
In Groves, by Rivers, and on fertile Plains,
They civiliz'd and taught the list'ning Swains;
Whilst with high raptures, and as great success,
Virtue they cloath'd in Musick's charming dress.
This Merlin spoke, who in his gloomy Cave,
Ev'n Destiny her self seem'd to enslave.
For to his sight the future time was known,
Much better than to others is their own:
And with such state, Predictions from him fell,
As if he did Decree, and not Foretel.
This spoke King Arthur, who, if Fame be true,
Could have compell'd Mankind to speak it too.
In this once Boadicca valour taught,
And spoke more nobly than her Souldiers fought:
Tell me what Hero could do more than she,
Who fell at once for Fame and Liberty?
Nor could a greater Sacrifice belong,
Or to her Childrens, or her Countries wrong.
This spoke Caractacus, who was so brave,
That to the Roman Fortune check he gave:
And when their Yoke he could decline no more,
He it so decently and nobly wore,
That Rome her self with blushes did believe,
A Britain would the Law of Honour give;
And hastily his chains away she threw,
Lest her own Captive else should her subdue.
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