The Prisoners A Tragae-Comedy |
TO HIS MOST HONOVR'D VNCLE Mr. Thomas Killegrevv, on his two excellent Playes, the PRISONERS and CLARACILLA. |
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 | The Prisoners |  |
TO HIS MOST HONOVR'D VNCLE Mr. Thomas Killegrevv, on his two excellent Playes, the PRISONERS and CLARACILLA.
When, worthy sir, I reade your Playes, and finde,
Iudgement and Wit, in one strict knot combin'de;
How unconstrain'd Both meete to make things rare,
And fit without th'expence of Paines or Care;
How ev'ry Scene is manag'd, how each Line
Doth with a quicke, yet gentle clearenesse shine;
How every Passion's rais'd by just degrees,
And every humor pend to the life: yet These
So truely all your owne, as nothing there
Stands lame, or forc'd, either to th'Eye, or Eare;
Nor yet enrich'd by others cost, or paine,
But like Minerva, rais'd from your owne Braine;
I cannot choose but wonder how your Parts
Gain'd this perfection without Bookes, or Arts;
And I may thence conclude, that soules are sent
Knowing from heaven, Learn'd too and Eloquent
From their owne Powers within, or safely tell
That all Invention's but Remembring well,
Iudgement and Wit, in one strict knot combin'de;
How unconstrain'd Both meete to make things rare,
And fit without th'expence of Paines or Care;
How ev'ry Scene is manag'd, how each Line
Doth with a quicke, yet gentle clearenesse shine;
How every Passion's rais'd by just degrees,
And every humor pend to the life: yet These
So truely all your owne, as nothing there
Stands lame, or forc'd, either to th'Eye, or Eare;
Nor yet enrich'd by others cost, or paine,
But like Minerva, rais'd from your owne Braine;
I cannot choose but wonder how your Parts
Gain'd this perfection without Bookes, or Arts;
Knowing from heaven, Learn'd too and Eloquent
From their owne Powers within, or safely tell
That all Invention's but Remembring well,
But why in vaine doe I urge this, when You
Have gain'd those helps which learned men ne're knew,
And greater too than Theirs? your thoughts have reade
Men that are living Rules, whiles bookes are dead;
Y'have liv'd in Court, where wit and language flow,
Where Iudgements thrive, and where true māners grow;
Where great and good are seene in their first springs,
The breasts of Princes, and the minds of Kings:
Where beauty shines cloath'd in her brightest rayes,
To gaine all loves, all wonder, and all sipraise:
From whence you taught Melintus fires to move,
Pausanes too the Eloquence of Love;
What others thus to ruder precepts owe.
You by Examples, and best patternes know,
And teach us that a true and Native grace
(In spight of studied Rules and Arts) takes place.
Have gain'd those helps which learned men ne're knew,
And greater too than Theirs? your thoughts have reade
Men that are living Rules, whiles bookes are dead;
Y'have liv'd in Court, where wit and language flow,
Where Iudgements thrive, and where true māners grow;
Where great and good are seene in their first springs,
The breasts of Princes, and the minds of Kings:
Where beauty shines cloath'd in her brightest rayes,
To gaine all loves, all wonder, and all sipraise:
From whence you taught Melintus fires to move,
Pausanes too the Eloquence of Love;
What others thus to ruder precepts owe.
You by Examples, and best patternes know,
And teach us that a true and Native grace
(In spight of studied Rules and Arts) takes place.
When he who more precisly pennes, and drawes
His labour'd Scenes true by Dramatique Lawes,
May well transcribe those Rules perhaps, but then
The Whole runnes lame and rudely from his pen:
Bearing those tracts apparent to the view,
As shew the grosser lines by which he drew:
The thing it selfe thus Vex'd and his Braine too,
He gaines but This, To erre with much adoe.
His labour'd Scenes true by Dramatique Lawes,
May well transcribe those Rules perhaps, but then
The Whole runnes lame and rudely from his pen:
Bearing those tracts apparent to the view,
As shew the grosser lines by which he drew:
The thing it selfe thus Vex'd and his Braine too,
He gaines but This, To erre with much adoe.
Thus want of Nature betrayes Art, whiles he
That writes like You that is secure, and Free,
Makes flights so undiscern'd so still his owne,
That those of towring Eagles are lesse knowne.
That writes like You that is secure, and Free,
Makes flights so undiscern'd so still his owne,
That those of towring Eagles are lesse knowne.
What though no verse, your Scenes and Acts divides
Numbers are Shackles to Great Wits, not Guides,
He that Scans ev'ry word, and so Confines
To Certaine Measur'd feete his well-pac'd lines
Enslaves the Matter, which he should Expresse
And false to's Art, makes the Thing Serve its Dresse,
Numbers are Shackles to Great Wits, not Guides,
He that Scans ev'ry word, and so Confines
To Certaine Measur'd feete his well-pac'd lines
And false to's Art, makes the Thing Serve its Dresse,
But you on purpose have these Rules declin'd,
Not trusting those which Others Wits design'd,
Hence looke we on you, as on those whose worth
Vnborrow'd first gave Sciences their Birth,
Men full of Native frame, like Patterne, showne,
And following no example, but their owne,
When you invent, you'r Free when Iudge, youre Cleare
Yet so that larger thoughts did never beare
True judgement off, nor judgements Rule suppesse,
Or draw downe thoughts from generous Mightinesse:
Nor can we strictly this invention call,
Or Iudgement that Both mixe, Both shew in all:
Thus, like two æmulous flames, they twist at last
In one bright Pyramide, whose lustres cast
Such undivided glories, that they raise,
A solemne Trophie unto eithers Praise.
Not trusting those which Others Wits design'd,
Hence looke we on you, as on those whose worth
Vnborrow'd first gave Sciences their Birth,
Men full of Native frame, like Patterne, showne,
And following no example, but their owne,
When you invent, you'r Free when Iudge, youre Cleare
Yet so that larger thoughts did never beare
True judgement off, nor judgements Rule suppesse,
Or draw downe thoughts from generous Mightinesse:
Nor can we strictly this invention call,
Or Iudgement that Both mixe, Both shew in all:
Thus, like two æmulous flames, they twist at last
In one bright Pyramide, whose lustres cast
Such undivided glories, that they raise,
A solemne Trophie unto eithers Praise.
H. Benet
| The Prisoners | |