 | The Earl of Essex |  |
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To Mr. HENRY JONES, on his Tragedy of the Earl of Essex.
As ancient Heroes are renown'd in Song,
For rescuing Virtue from th'Oppressor's Wrong,
So shall thy Fame, who snatch'd this well-wrought Tale,
From Dulness' gloomy Pow'r, o'er Time prevail.
For rescuing Virtue from th'Oppressor's Wrong,
So shall thy Fame, who snatch'd this well-wrought Tale,
From Dulness' gloomy Pow'r, o'er Time prevail.
Long had these Scenes, wound up with dext'rous Art,
In spight of Reason, gain'd upon the Heart;
Thaw'd ev'ry frozen Fountain of the Eye,
We wept, 'till even Sorrow's self was dry;
Yet Judgment scorn'd what Passion had approv'd,
And the Head wonder'd, how the Heart was mov'd.
But, with a Fate revers'd, thy Work shall boast,
That soundest Judgments shall admire it most.
Cloath'd in the easy Grandeur of thy Lines,
The Story brightens, as the Diction shines.
Renew'd with Vigour as in Age 'tis grown,
The wond'ring Scene sees Beauties not it's own.
In spight of Reason, gain'd upon the Heart;
Thaw'd ev'ry frozen Fountain of the Eye,
We wept, 'till even Sorrow's self was dry;
Yet Judgment scorn'd what Passion had approv'd,
And the Head wonder'd, how the Heart was mov'd.
But, with a Fate revers'd, thy Work shall boast,
That soundest Judgments shall admire it most.
Cloath'd in the easy Grandeur of thy Lines,
The Story brightens, as the Diction shines.
Renew'd with Vigour as in Age 'tis grown,
The wond'ring Scene sees Beauties not it's own.
Thus, worn with Years, in Afric's sultry Vales,
The crested Snake shifts off his tarnish'd Scales;
Assumes fresh Beauties, brighter than the old,
Of changing Colours, intermix'd with Gold:
Reburnish'd, basks beneath the scorching Ray,
Shines with new Glories in the Face of Day,
Darts fiercer Lightning from his brandish'd Tongue,
Rolls more sublime, and seems, at least, more young.
The crested Snake shifts off his tarnish'd Scales;
Assumes fresh Beauties, brighter than the old,
Of changing Colours, intermix'd with Gold:
Reburnish'd, basks beneath the scorching Ray,
Shines with new Glories in the Face of Day,
Darts fiercer Lightning from his brandish'd Tongue,
Rolls more sublime, and seems, at least, more young.
No more shall Noise, and wild, bombastic Rage
Usurp th'applauding Thunder of the Stage;
Fustain no more shall pass for true Sublime,
Nor Nonsense musically float in Rhime;
Nor, in a worse Extreme, shall creeping Prose,
For Nature and Simplicity, impose:
By thee reform'd, each vicious Taste shall fail,
And Critic Justice hold aloft her Scale.
Usurp th'applauding Thunder of the Stage;
Fustain no more shall pass for true Sublime,
Nor Nonsense musically float in Rhime;
Nor, in a worse Extreme, shall creeping Prose,
For Nature and Simplicity, impose:
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And Critic Justice hold aloft her Scale.
Whence beams this dazling Lustre on thy Mind?
Whence this vast Fund of Knowledge in Mankind,
Unletter'd Genius? Whence hast thou been taught
This Dignity of Stile, this Majesty of Thought,
This rapid Fire, by cool Correctness rul'd,
And ev'ry learned Elegance, unschool'd?
Say, hath great Shakespear's transmigrated Shade
Inform'd thy Mass, or lent thee friendly Aid?
To him, bless'd Bard! untaught, 'twas also giv'n,
T'ascend, on native Wings, Invention's brightest Heaven,
Assuming Phœbus' Port; and, in his Train,
The Muses all, like Handmaids, not in vain,
Crouch for Employment.—
The Passions too, subservient to his Will,
Attentive wait on his superior Skill;
At the Command of his inchanting Art,
Unlock the bursting Flood-gates of the Heart,
And in the rapid, headlong Stream, bear down
The vanquish'd Soul, and make it all his own.
Whence this vast Fund of Knowledge in Mankind,
Unletter'd Genius? Whence hast thou been taught
This Dignity of Stile, this Majesty of Thought,
This rapid Fire, by cool Correctness rul'd,
And ev'ry learned Elegance, unschool'd?
Say, hath great Shakespear's transmigrated Shade
Inform'd thy Mass, or lent thee friendly Aid?
To him, bless'd Bard! untaught, 'twas also giv'n,
T'ascend, on native Wings, Invention's brightest Heaven,
Assuming Phœbus' Port; and, in his Train,
The Muses all, like Handmaids, not in vain,
Crouch for Employment.—
The Passions too, subservient to his Will,
Attentive wait on his superior Skill;
At the Command of his inchanting Art,
Unlock the bursting Flood-gates of the Heart,
And in the rapid, headlong Stream, bear down
The vanquish'd Soul, and make it all his own.
Happy, the Clime, distinguish'd be the Age,
When Genius shoots spontaneous for the Stage;
Not too luxuriant, nor too trimly neat,
But, in loose Wildness, negligently great.
O may the gen'rous Plants, so wond'rous rare,
Ne'er want the tender Hand of fost'ring care;
But, like Apollo's fav'rite Tree, be seen,
For ever flourishing, for ever green.
When Genius shoots spontaneous for the Stage;
Not too luxuriant, nor too trimly neat,
But, in loose Wildness, negligently great.
O may the gen'rous Plants, so wond'rous rare,
Ne'er want the tender Hand of fost'ring care;
But, like Apollo's fav'rite Tree, be seen,
For ever flourishing, for ever green.
McNamara Morgan.
| The Earl of Essex | |