The Lady-Errant A Tragi-Comedy |
Upon the Memory of Mr William Cartvvright and his admirable Poems.
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 | The Lady-Errant |  |
Upon the Memory of Mr William Cartvvright and his admirable Poems.
Among
the splendid ornaments that crown
An Age, and to a Nation add Renown,
Is he whom great Apollo hath inspir'd
With Sacred gift of Poesie admir'd;
Whose charming measures and harmonious straines,
Have power to free the Captive Mind from chaines
Of savage ignorance, and to restore
The civill Customes of the Age of Yore.
When such did live, and taught their learned Rimes
Among us here, then happy were the Times,
Made famous by their Poets Laureate;
But now the Age grown more degenerate,
True Vertue fades, and Learning is contemn'd,
While by unletter'd ignorance condemn'd,
Those worthy Labours unregarded lye;
Nought is cri'd up, but what the Vulgar frie
Of tipsie Cupid-Rimers little worth
In haste to please the Multitude bring forth;
And now a fatall night draws on apace
While pensive Poetry in sad disgrace
Bewailes the close of such a glorious day,
And all Arts seem short-liv'd in her decay.
But see where now appears another Morn,
Whose dawning rayes great Cartvvight doth adorn,
He whose high raptures not unjustly 'aspire
To equall Linus or the Thracian Lyre;
Teaching sowre Hyppocrites that falsely 'accuse
The wholsome precepts of the innocent Muse,
To cease their rayling envy, and to love
Th' admired gift of sacred Pow'rs above.
An Age, and to a Nation add Renown,
Is he whom great Apollo hath inspir'd
With Sacred gift of Poesie admir'd;
Whose charming measures and harmonious straines,
Have power to free the Captive Mind from chaines
Of savage ignorance, and to restore
The civill Customes of the Age of Yore.
When such did live, and taught their learned Rimes
Among us here, then happy were the Times,
Made famous by their Poets Laureate;
But now the Age grown more degenerate,
True Vertue fades, and Learning is contemn'd,
While by unletter'd ignorance condemn'd,
Those worthy Labours unregarded lye;
Nought is cri'd up, but what the Vulgar frie
Of tipsie Cupid-Rimers little worth
In haste to please the Multitude bring forth;
And now a fatall night draws on apace
While pensive Poetry in sad disgrace
Bewailes the close of such a glorious day,
And all Arts seem short-liv'd in her decay.
But see where now appears another Morn,
Whose dawning rayes great Cartvvight doth adorn,
To equall Linus or the Thracian Lyre;
Teaching sowre Hyppocrites that falsely 'accuse
The wholsome precepts of the innocent Muse,
To cease their rayling envy, and to love
Th' admired gift of sacred Pow'rs above.
Hail honour'd Bard, in thy Great Name reviv'd,
And by thy Learned Works made longer liv'd;
Born to rebuke the vices of the Age,
And vindicate the honour of the Stage;
For which we owe what cannot be repay'd,
Only Ingratitude to be essay'd:
Nor can we truly thy true worth express,
Lest we should derogate by an excess;
Yet joy, receiving so much light from thee
As gives new beams to fading Poesie,
And like th' Astronomer, who, by his Art
Numbring the Constellations part by part,
Some new Star having in the heaven espy'd,
Worships it more than all the Stars beside;
Thus we, great Cartvvright, do adore thy Name,
And triumph in the Conquest of thy Fame,
Who hast obscur'd the rout of Poetasters,
That in thy Art presuming to be Masters,
Dishonour'd Phæbus, and his heav'n-born Quire,
Arraying Poesie in false attire.
You then who have in silence mourned long,
The want of one whose true inspired Song
Could teach you all the Charmes of lofty Verse,
His labour'd and well-wov'n lines rehearse,
Stor'd with a certain power to give relief,
And take away th' occasion of your grief:
Where you may also see Art joyn'd with Wit,
So to refine and polish what he writ,
As not to swell with Sentences that rise
Like mounting Waves in fury to the Skies.
Yet creep they not, but with Majestick pace
Keep just decorum, and a comely grace.
His Scenes are harmless, not with such a strain
As barks at Vice more in it self prophane,
Nor made to raise the Vulgar's præsent laughter,
But to be read, and be esteem'd hereafter.
Thus honour'd Cartvvright, maugre envies rage,
Thou here shalt live the glory of thy Age,
For now thy Memory shall here inherit
The praise belonging to thy ample Merit;
Which all succeeding Times will joy to see
Crown'd with such Wreaths of Immortality.
And by thy Learned Works made longer liv'd;
Born to rebuke the vices of the Age,
And vindicate the honour of the Stage;
For which we owe what cannot be repay'd,
Only Ingratitude to be essay'd:
Nor can we truly thy true worth express,
Lest we should derogate by an excess;
Yet joy, receiving so much light from thee
As gives new beams to fading Poesie,
And like th' Astronomer, who, by his Art
Numbring the Constellations part by part,
Some new Star having in the heaven espy'd,
Worships it more than all the Stars beside;
Thus we, great Cartvvright, do adore thy Name,
And triumph in the Conquest of thy Fame,
Who hast obscur'd the rout of Poetasters,
That in thy Art presuming to be Masters,
Dishonour'd Phæbus, and his heav'n-born Quire,
Arraying Poesie in false attire.
You then who have in silence mourned long,
The want of one whose true inspired Song
Could teach you all the Charmes of lofty Verse,
His labour'd and well-wov'n lines rehearse,
Stor'd with a certain power to give relief,
And take away th' occasion of your grief:
Where you may also see Art joyn'd with Wit,
So to refine and polish what he writ,
As not to swell with Sentences that rise
Like mounting Waves in fury to the Skies.
Keep just decorum, and a comely grace.
His Scenes are harmless, not with such a strain
As barks at Vice more in it self prophane,
Nor made to raise the Vulgar's præsent laughter,
But to be read, and be esteem'd hereafter.
Thus honour'd Cartvvright, maugre envies rage,
Thou here shalt live the glory of thy Age,
For now thy Memory shall here inherit
The praise belonging to thy ample Merit;
Which all succeeding Times will joy to see
Crown'd with such Wreaths of Immortality.
I. P.
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