Truth in Fiction Or, Morality in Masquerade. A Collection of Two hundred twenty five Select Fables of Aesop, and other Authors. Done into English Verse. By Edmund Arwaker |
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 | Truth in Fiction |  |
Of all Musicians by Historians nam'd,
Whose celebrated Skill made Lesbos fam'd,
Admir'd Arion justly challeng'd Place,
None Sang or Play'd with equal Art or Grace;
Not the sweet Thracian Bard, whose pow'rful Hand
Made Mountains move, and rapid Torrents stand;
Nor he whose Harp's attractive Sound did call
The hast'ning Stones to form the Theban Wall;
Were more renown'd, or more did merit Praise:
So soft his Airs, so charming were his Lays.
The Inspiration in each Note and String
Ravish'd the Heart of the Corinthian King;
So highly Periander did admire
The conqu'ring Musick of his Voice and Lyre.
Whose celebrated Skill made Lesbos fam'd,
Admir'd Arion justly challeng'd Place,
None Sang or Play'd with equal Art or Grace;
Not the sweet Thracian Bard, whose pow'rful Hand
Made Mountains move, and rapid Torrents stand;
Nor he whose Harp's attractive Sound did call
The hast'ning Stones to form the Theban Wall;
Were more renown'd, or more did merit Praise:
So soft his Airs, so charming were his Lays.
The Inspiration in each Note and String
Ravish'd the Heart of the Corinthian King;
So highly Periander did admire
The conqu'ring Musick of his Voice and Lyre.
But this great Artist, whose capacious Mind
In narrow Limits cou'd not be confin'd,
Resolv'd the Triumphs of his Skill to boast
In the Italian and Sicilian Coast;
Where he to such advantage Sang and Play'd,
That all his Hearers were his Captives made:
His influencing Tunes, in either Land,
Their Ears and Purses did alike command:
So much the Crouds his rare Performance pris'd,
That, for its Raptures, they their Gold despis'd.
Enrich'd, and laden with the shining Spoil,
He wou'd re-visit Corinth's dearer Soil;
And hir'd a Vessel, by its Natives Mann'd,
To bear him back to the delightful Land.
But they, who knew how rich a Fraight they bore,
Had scarcely left the hospitable Shore,
When, for the Lucre of the tempting Prize,
They had design'd his Life a Sacrifice.
He begg'd Compassion; but, alas! in vain,
His Rhetorick no Favour cou'd obtain:
That Voice, whose Pow'r, 'till then, did never fail,
Cou'd not on their obdurate Hearts prevail:
As soon its Sounds the flinty Rocks might pierce,
Or calm the Sea, with which they did converse:
All that their conscientious Souls allow'd,
Was, not to have their Hands imbrew'd in Blood:
He therefore must his own Assassine be,
And leap (to save their Guilt) into the Sea.
(Tho' this Evasion of their Crime was vain,
Not all its Water cou'd remove the Stain.)
In narrow Limits cou'd not be confin'd,
Resolv'd the Triumphs of his Skill to boast
In the Italian and Sicilian Coast;
165
That all his Hearers were his Captives made:
His influencing Tunes, in either Land,
Their Ears and Purses did alike command:
So much the Crouds his rare Performance pris'd,
That, for its Raptures, they their Gold despis'd.
Enrich'd, and laden with the shining Spoil,
He wou'd re-visit Corinth's dearer Soil;
And hir'd a Vessel, by its Natives Mann'd,
To bear him back to the delightful Land.
But they, who knew how rich a Fraight they bore,
Had scarcely left the hospitable Shore,
When, for the Lucre of the tempting Prize,
They had design'd his Life a Sacrifice.
He begg'd Compassion; but, alas! in vain,
His Rhetorick no Favour cou'd obtain:
That Voice, whose Pow'r, 'till then, did never fail,
Cou'd not on their obdurate Hearts prevail:
As soon its Sounds the flinty Rocks might pierce,
Or calm the Sea, with which they did converse:
All that their conscientious Souls allow'd,
Was, not to have their Hands imbrew'd in Blood:
He therefore must his own Assassine be,
And leap (to save their Guilt) into the Sea.
(Tho' this Evasion of their Crime was vain,
Not all its Water cou'd remove the Stain.)
Since Death was irreversibly decree'd,
And no smooth Oratory cou'd succeed;
He ask'd their Leave to take his Harp along,
And, Swan-like, die with an expiring Song.
This small Request they did with ease allow,
For, so he was but dead, they car'd not how:
And they, who never lik'd his Tunes before,
Rejoyc'd to hear what they shou'd hear no more.
And no smooth Oratory cou'd succeed;
He ask'd their Leave to take his Harp along,
And, Swan-like, die with an expiring Song.
This small Request they did with ease allow,
For, so he was but dead, they car'd not how:
And they, who never lik'd his Tunes before,
Rejoyc'd to hear what they shou'd hear no more.
To lofty Notes he rais'd his Strings and Voice,
And took his Leap, not as by Force, but Choice.
With Joy the brisk Levalto they behold,
Pleas'd they had lost him, and secur'd his Gold;
And when they thought him past discov'ring Tales,
Before the fav'ring Breezes hoist their Sails.
And took his Leap, not as by Force, but Choice.
166
Pleas'd they had lost him, and secur'd his Gold;
And when they thought him past discov'ring Tales,
Before the fav'ring Breezes hoist their Sails.
But Heav'n, that Melody with Pleasure hears,
And keeps a tuneful Consort in its Spheres;
(His Ruin, and their Malice, to prevent)
To his Relief a Swift-Finn'd Dolphin sent:
Which, by him charm'd, and proud of such a Fraight,
Himself presented to support his Weight.
And keeps a tuneful Consort in its Spheres;
(His Ruin, and their Malice, to prevent)
To his Relief a Swift-Finn'd Dolphin sent:
Which, by him charm'd, and proud of such a Fraight,
Himself presented to support his Weight.
Arion, who no better Chance cou'd wish,
With active Vigour back'd the yielding Fish;
And, mounted thus, o'er the curl'd Billows rode,
Safe and triumphant, like a Water-God;
'Till by his scaly Courser's kindly Aid,
He was to the Laconick Shore convey'd.
When there arriv'd, on Corinth still intent,
He to his Patron, Periander, went;
And to the wond'ring Monarch did relate
The sudden Turns of his surprizing Fate.
With active Vigour back'd the yielding Fish;
And, mounted thus, o'er the curl'd Billows rode,
Safe and triumphant, like a Water-God;
'Till by his scaly Courser's kindly Aid,
He was to the Laconick Shore convey'd.
When there arriv'd, on Corinth still intent,
He to his Patron, Periander, went;
And to the wond'ring Monarch did relate
The sudden Turns of his surprizing Fate.
The King, who scarce cou'd think the Story true,
Since History no Parallel did shew,
Conceal'd Arion, and the Sailors sought,
Who were into his awful Presence brought,
And ask'd, If in the Coast from whence they came,
They were acquainted with Arion's Fame?
They answer'd. He in Italy was well,
And did the greatest Masters there excell;
With vast Respect and Honour was caress'd,
And an Estate, he purchas'd there, possess'd.
This false Account conceal'd Arion heard,
And, to confront their Impudence, appear'd:
Convicted thus, each hid his guilty Face,
Tho' harden'd far beyond their Native Brass.
Since History no Parallel did shew,
Conceal'd Arion, and the Sailors sought,
Who were into his awful Presence brought,
And ask'd, If in the Coast from whence they came,
They were acquainted with Arion's Fame?
They answer'd. He in Italy was well,
And did the greatest Masters there excell;
With vast Respect and Honour was caress'd,
And an Estate, he purchas'd there, possess'd.
This false Account conceal'd Arion heard,
And, to confront their Impudence, appear'd:
Convicted thus, each hid his guilty Face,
Tho' harden'd far beyond their Native Brass.
| Truth in Fiction | |