A poem on Chaucer and his Writings Written at the Request of the Lord Bishop of Rochester; and now Dedicated to His Lordship. By Mr. Dart |
 |
| [The grateful Muse while she her Fav'rite sings] |
 | A poem on Chaucer and his Writings |  |
i
[The grateful Muse while she her Fav'rite sings]
The grateful Muse while she her Fav'rite sings:
To you, my Lord the votive Off'ring brings.
Sure, while the best of Poets she commends,
The Fairest Critic, and the best of Friends,
Demands the Song: And while she turns her View,
To whom can she direct her Eye but you:
Who call'd her from her 'lov'd Obscurity,
Beneath your Care, and plac'd her in your Eye.
For I, discourag'd at the publick Crimes,
And hurry'd View of avaricious Times;
Where Heaps of Wealth, and all the Tide of Gain,
Flow'd in to Miscreants, and a servile Train:
A tricking Crew in Seats of Honour plac'd,
The Patron, or impov'rish'd, or disgrac'd:
While the base sordid Tribe refund the Prize,
In dire Extravagance, and Scenes of Vice:
For how could Wretches favour Learning's Need,
Or praise the Poet, whom they could not read?
While others made the Nation's Bark their Care,
To patch and mend, and keep her in Repair.
Our Nobles Taste debauch'd, their Bounty paid
To sly Projectors, and the cheating Trade;
Trod meanly from their great Forefathers Ways,
Nor sought for, nor acquir'd, nor once rewarded Praise
No kind Mæcenas made the Bard his Care,
No Dorset to engage a Monarch's Ear.
To you, my Lord the votive Off'ring brings.
Sure, while the best of Poets she commends,
The Fairest Critic, and the best of Friends,
Demands the Song: And while she turns her View,
To whom can she direct her Eye but you:
Who call'd her from her 'lov'd Obscurity,
Beneath your Care, and plac'd her in your Eye.
For I, discourag'd at the publick Crimes,
And hurry'd View of avaricious Times;
Where Heaps of Wealth, and all the Tide of Gain,
Flow'd in to Miscreants, and a servile Train:
A tricking Crew in Seats of Honour plac'd,
The Patron, or impov'rish'd, or disgrac'd:
While the base sordid Tribe refund the Prize,
In dire Extravagance, and Scenes of Vice:
For how could Wretches favour Learning's Need,
Or praise the Poet, whom they could not read?
ii
To patch and mend, and keep her in Repair.
Our Nobles Taste debauch'd, their Bounty paid
To sly Projectors, and the cheating Trade;
Trod meanly from their great Forefathers Ways,
Nor sought for, nor acquir'd, nor once rewarded Praise
No kind Mæcenas made the Bard his Care,
No Dorset to engage a Monarch's Ear.
Scar'd at the View, I fled the hateful Town,
Nor stay'd to think, but even walk'd it down:
Resolv'd to try the Sweets that Peace could yield,
In the 'lone Thicket, and the pensive Field;
There gave my Thoughts a Loose, enlarg'd my Mind,
Nor once look'd back on what I left behind.
Till call'd from the conceal'd Retreat by you,
Encourag'd to begin the Chace a-new:
You kindly made the Muses Care your own,
Indulg'd my Flights, and bad me dare be known;
Bad me adventrous try at Chaucer's Name,
The hardest Task, but surest Road to Fame.
Nor stay'd to think, but even walk'd it down:
Resolv'd to try the Sweets that Peace could yield,
In the 'lone Thicket, and the pensive Field;
There gave my Thoughts a Loose, enlarg'd my Mind,
Nor once look'd back on what I left behind.
Till call'd from the conceal'd Retreat by you,
Encourag'd to begin the Chace a-new:
You kindly made the Muses Care your own,
Indulg'd my Flights, and bad me dare be known;
Bad me adventrous try at Chaucer's Name,
The hardest Task, but surest Road to Fame.
And now, my Lord, ungarded I engage,
Alone, the Fury of a partial Age:
Depriv'd your gen'rous Kindness to correct,
Censure to ward, and Interest to protect:
For where thy Palace was, the Bards resort,
Where e'en the Muses seem'd to keep their Court:
For each recorded Poet waited there,
You was their Oracle, and they your Care;
A sure Retreat for Men of deathless Fame,
Where saucy Party never found a Name.
Alone, the Fury of a partial Age:
Depriv'd your gen'rous Kindness to correct,
Censure to ward, and Interest to protect:
iii
Where e'en the Muses seem'd to keep their Court:
For each recorded Poet waited there,
You was their Oracle, and they your Care;
A sure Retreat for Men of deathless Fame,
Where saucy Party never found a Name.
Now, toilsome, I, a different Scene, essay
The Cullic'd Arch, and long embattl'd Way;
Where you no more can kind Instructions give,
And all Enquiry gains, is, That you live.
Ye flinty Walls! thou Tower, whose Bases swell!
Dark Scene of Care, where Misery must dwell!
Boast of a Prize you never kept before,
Thou great Preservative of Learning's Store.
The Cullic'd Arch, and long embattl'd Way;
Where you no more can kind Instructions give,
And all Enquiry gains, is, That you live.
Ye flinty Walls! thou Tower, whose Bases swell!
Dark Scene of Care, where Misery must dwell!
Boast of a Prize you never kept before,
Thou great Preservative of Learning's Store.
And you, my Lord, accept these thankful Lays;
Sure in this Province I may safely praise:
This Character, nor Spite, nor Rage can waste,
Nor Envy blacken, nor Detraction blast:
A Character! which, nor can Time annoy,
Defacing Time, nor Death, e'en Death destroy:
For when dire Fate shall her pale Fingers spread,
Unbind the holy Fillets from thy Head;
With Iron Feet break down the Choiral Throne,
And seize the sacred Robes and mystick Crown:
Even then a fairer Chaplet shall be seen,
Tenacious of the Leaf and Ever-green;
Whose twisted Wreath, promiscuously displays
The Critick's Ivy, and the Poet's Bays.
Sure in this Province I may safely praise:
This Character, nor Spite, nor Rage can waste,
Nor Envy blacken, nor Detraction blast:
A Character! which, nor can Time annoy,
Defacing Time, nor Death, e'en Death destroy:
For when dire Fate shall her pale Fingers spread,
Unbind the holy Fillets from thy Head;
With Iron Feet break down the Choiral Throne,
And seize the sacred Robes and mystick Crown:
iv
Tenacious of the Leaf and Ever-green;
Whose twisted Wreath, promiscuously displays
The Critick's Ivy, and the Poet's Bays.
But may kind Heaven reserve that fatal Day,
Till distant Time, and keep it far away:
May you, my Lord, e'er many Days shall be,
Return again to bless the World and me;
By all admlr'd, when from Suspicion clear'd,
Disgrac'd a little, to be long rever'd.
And be no more, when Vice shall low'r her Crest,
The Atheist's By-word, and the Strumpet's Jest:
But given to Britain, when this Scene is o'er,
To bless her Senate, as you did before.
Till distant Time, and keep it far away:
May you, my Lord, e'er many Days shall be,
Return again to bless the World and me;
By all admlr'd, when from Suspicion clear'd,
Disgrac'd a little, to be long rever'd.
And be no more, when Vice shall low'r her Crest,
The Atheist's By-word, and the Strumpet's Jest:
But given to Britain, when this Scene is o'er,
To bless her Senate, as you did before.
Alluding to some execrable Pamphlets relating to Prelacy, and the detestable Talk of vicious Partizans.
But Gratitude can never be a Crime:
Enflam'd with this, I dare e'en thus appear,
Unknowing how to flatter, or to fear.
| A poem on Chaucer and his Writings | |