Classic Poem

PROLOGUE

How wretched is the fate of those who write,
Brought muzzled to the stage, for fear they bite!
Where, like Tom Dove, they stand the common foe;
Lugg'd by the critic, baited by the beau.
Yet worse, their brother poets damn the play,
And roar the loudest, tho' they never pay.
The fops are proud of scandal, for they cry,
At every lewd, low character: " That 's I. "
He who writes letters to himself would swear
The world forgot him, if he was not there.
What should a poet do? 'T is hard for one
To pleasure all the fools that would be shown,
And yet not two in ten will pass the town.
Most coxcombs are not of the laughing kind;
More goes to make a fop than fops can find.
Quack Maurus, tho' he never took degrees
In either of our universities,
Yet to be shown by some kind wit he looks,
Because he play'd the fool, and writ three books.
But, if he would be worth a poet's pen,
He must be more a fool, and write again;
For all the former fustian stuff he wrote
Was dead-born dogg'rel, or is quite forgot;
His man of Uz, stripp'd of his Hebrew robe,
Is just the proverb, and as poor as Job .
One would have thought he could no longer jog;
But Arthur was a level, Job 's a bog.
There, tho' he crept, yet still he kept in sight;
But here he founders in, and sinks downright.
Had he prepar'd us, and been dull by rule,
Tobit had first been turn'd to ridicule;
But our bold Briton, without fear or awe,
O'erleaps at once the whole Apocrypha;
Invades the Psalms with rhymes, and leaves no room
For any Vandal Hopkins yet to come.
But what if, after all, this godly gear
Is not so senseless as it would appear?
Our mountebank has laid a deeper train;
His cant, like Merry Andrew's noble vein,
Catcalls the sects, to draw 'em in again.
At leisure hours, in epic song he deals,
Writes to the rumbling of his coach's wheels,
Prescribes in haste, and seldom kills by rule,
But rides triumphant between stool and stool.
Well, let him go; 't is yet too early day,
To get himself a place in farce or play.
We know not by what name we should arraign him,
For no one category can contain him;
A pedant, canting preacher, and a quack,
Are load enough to break one ass's back:
At last grown wanton, he presum'd to write,
Traduc'd two kings, their kindness to requite;
One made the doctor, and one dubb'd the knight.

EPILOGUE

P ERHAPS the parson stretch'd a point too far,
When with our theaters he wag'd a war.
He tells you that this very moral age
Receiv'd the first infection from the stage.
But sure, a banish'd court, with lewdness fraught,
The seeds of open vice, returning, brought.
Thus lodg'd, (as vice by great example thrives,)
It first debauch'd the daughters and the wives.
London, a fruitful soil, yet never bore
So plentiful a crop of horns before.
The poets, who must live by courts, or starve,
Were proud so good a government to serve;
And, mixing with buffoons and pimps profane,
Tainted the stage, for some small snip of gain.
For they, like harlots, under bawds profess'd,
Took all th' ungodly pains, and got the least.
Thus did the thriving malady prevail,
The court its head, the poets but the tail.
The sin was of our native growth, 'tis true;
The scandal of the sin was wholly new.
Misses there were, but modestly conceal'd;
Whitehall the naked Venus first reveal'd,
Who standing, as at Cyprus, in her shrine,
The strumpet was ador'd with rites divine.
Ere this, if saints had any secret motion,
'Twas chamber practice all, and close devotion.
I pass the peccadillos of their time;
Nothing but open lewdness was a crime.
A monarch's blood was venial to the nation,
Compar'd with one foul act of fornication.
Now, they would silence us, and shut the door
That let in all the barefac'd vice before.
As for reforming us, which some pretend,
That work in England is without an end:
Well we may change, but we shall never mend.
Yet, if you can but bear the present stage,
We hope much better of the coming age.
What would you say, if we should first begin
To stop the trade of love behind the scene,
Where actresses make bold with married men?
For while abroad so prodigal the dolt is,
Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is.
In short, we'll grow as moral as we can,
Save here and there a woman or a man;
But neither you, nor we, with all our pains,
Can make clean work; there will be some remains,
While you have still your Oates, and we our Haynes.

SONG OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS MISTRESS, WHO, BEING CROSS'D BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL MAD FOR ONE ANOTHER, AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM Phyllis .

L OOK , look, I see — I see my love appear!
'Tis he — — 'tis he alone;
For like him there is none:
'Tis the dear, dear man; 'tis thee, dear! Amyntas .
Hark! the winds war;
The foamy waves roar;
I see a ship afar,
Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore:
But what's that I view,
So radiant of hue —
St. Hermo, St. Hermo, that sits upon the sails?
Ah! No, no, no.
St. Hermo never, never shone so bright;
'Tis Phyllis, only Phyllis, can shoot so fair a light;
'Tis Phyllis, 'tis Phyllis, that saves the ship alone,
For all the winds are hush'd, and the storm is overblown. Phyllis .
Let me go, let me run, let me fly to his arms. Amyntas .
If all the Fates combine,
And all the Furies join,
I'll force my way to Phyllis, and break thro' the charms. Phyllis .
Shall I marry the man I love?
And shall I conclude my pains?
Now blest be the powers above,
I feel the blood bound in my veins;
With a lively leap it began to move,
And the vapors leave my brains. Amyntas.

Body join'd to body, and heart join'd to heart,
To make sure of the cure,
Go call the man in black, to mumble o'er his part. Phyllis.

But suppose he should stay — Amyntas.

At worst if he delay,
'T is a work must be done;
We 'll borrow but a day,
And the better the sooner begun.

At worst if he delay , &c.

THE SECULAR MASQUE

Enter J ANUS . Janus.

C HRONOS , Chronos, mend thy pace;
An hundred times the rolling sun
Around the radiant belt has run
In his revolving race.
Behold, behold, the goal in sight;
Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight. Chronos.

Weary, weary of my weight,
Let me, let me drop my freight,
And leave the world behind.
I could not bear
Another year
The load of humankind. Momus.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well hast thou done
To lay down thy pack,
And lighten thy back;
The world was a fool, e'er since it begun,
And since neither Janus, nor Chronos, nor I
Can hinder the crimes,
Or mend the bad times,
'T is better to laugh than to cry.

'T is better to laugh than to cry. Janus.

Since Momus comes to laugh below,
Old Time, begin the show,
That he may see, in every scene,
What changes in this age have been. Chronos.

Then, goddess of the silver bow, begin. Diana.

With horns and with hounds I waken the day,
And hie to my woodland walks away;
I tuck up my robe, and am buskin'd soon,
And tie to my forehead a wexing moon.
I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox,
And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks;
With shouting and hooting we pierce thro' the sky,
And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry.

With shouting and hooting we pierce thro' the sky,
And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. Janus.

Then our age was in its prime: Chronos.

Free from rage: Diana.

And free from crime: Momus.

A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.

Then our age was in its prime,
Free from rage, and free from crime;
A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time. Mars.

Inspire the vocal brass, inspire;
The world is past its infant age;
Arms and honor,
Arms and honor,
Set the martial mind on fire,
And kindle manly rage.
Mars has look'd the sky to red;
And Peace, the lazy good, is fled.
Plenty, Peace, and Pleasure fly;
The sprightly green
In woodland walks no more is seen;
The sprightly green has drunk the Tyrian dye.

Plenty, Peace , &c. Mars.

Sound the trumpet, beat the drum;
Thro' all the world around,
Sound a reveille, sound, sound,
The warrior god is come.

Sound the trumpet , &c. Momus.

Thy sword within the scabbard keep,
And let mankind agree;
Better the world were fast asleep,
Than kept awake by thee.
The fools are only thinner,
With all our cost and care;
But neither side a winner,
For things are as they were.

The fools are only , &c. Venus.

Calms appear when storms are past,
Love will have his hour at last:
Nature is my kindly care;
Mars destroys, and I repair;
Take me, take me, while you may;
Venus comes not ev'ry day.

Take her, take her , &c. Chronos.

The world was then so light,
I scarcely felt the weight;
Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
But since the Queen of Pleasure left the ground,
I faint, I lag,
And feebly drag
The pond'rous orb around. Momus.

All, all of a piece throughout:

Thy chase had a beast in view;

Thy wars brought nothing about;

Thy lovers were all untrue. Janus.

'T is well an old age is out: Chronos.

And time to begin a new.

All, all of a piece throughout:
Thy chase had a beast in view;
Thy wars brought nothing about;
Thy lovers were all untrue.
'T is well an old age is out,
And time to begin a new.