And thou wast blithe, and merry all the VVay;
But when thou saw'st she was the Trojans Prey;
Then wast thou mad for her, and for thy Life,
Thou canst not now one Minute want thy Wife.
So stout Achilles, when his lovely Bride,
Briseis, was dispos'd to great Atride.
Nor was he vainly mov'd, Artrides too,
Offer'd no more, than he of Force must do.
I should have done as much, to set her free;
Yet I (Heaven knows) am not so wise as he. Volume 7: Mars and Venus ^note
This Tale is blaz'd thro' Heav'n, how once unware,
Venus and Mars were took in Vulcan's Snare.
The God of War doth in his Brow discover
The perfect and true Pattern of a Lover.
Nor could the Goddess Venus be so cruel
To deny Mars (soft Kindness is a Jewel
In any Woman, and becomes her well)
In this the Queen of Love doth most excel.
(Oh Heaven!) how often have they mockt and flouted
The Smith's Polt-foot (whilst nothing he misdoubted)
Made Jests of him, and his begrimed Trade;
And his smoog'd Visage, black with Cole-dust made.
Mars, tickled with loud Laughter, when he saw
Venus like Vulcan limp, to halt and draw
One Foot behind another, with sweet Grace,
To counterfeit his lame uneven Pace.

Their Meetings first the Lovers hide with Fear
From every jealous Eye, and captious Ear.
The God of VVar, and Love's lascivious Dame,
In publick View were full of bashful Shame.
But the Sun spies, how this sweet Pair agree,
(Oh what bright Phœbus, can be hid from thee?)
The Sun both sees and blabs the Sight forthwith,
And in all post he speeds to tell the Smith.
(Oh Sun!) what bad Examples dost thou show?
VVhat thou in secret seest must all Men know?
For Silence, ask a Bribe from her fair Treasure;
She'll grant thee that shall make thee swell with Pleasure.
The God, whose Face is smoog'd with Smoke and Fire,
Placeth about their Bed a Net of Wyar;
So quaintly made, that it deceives the Eye.
Strait (as he feigns) to Lemnos he must hie?
The Lovers meet, where he the Train hath set,
And both lie fast catcht in a wiery Net:
He calls the Gods, the Lovers naked sprall,
And cannot rise; the Queen of Love shews all.
Mars chafes, and Venus weeps, neither can flinch,
Grappled they lie, in vain they kick and wince.
Their Legs are one within another tide;
Their Hands so fast, that they can nothing hide;
Amongst these high Spectators, one by chance,
That saw them naked in this pitfall Dance:
Thus to himself said. If it tedious be,
Good God of War, bestow thy Place on me. Volume 7: The History how the Minotaur was begot
Ida of Cædars, and tall Trees stand full,
Where fed the Glory of the Herd a Bull

Snow-white save 'twixt his Horns one Spot there grew
Save that one Stain; he was of Milky hew.
This fair Steer did the Heifers of the Groves
Desire to bear as Prince of all the Droves.
But most Pasiphae with adulterous Breath,
Envies the wanton Heifers to the Death.
'Tis said, that for this Bull the doting Lass,
Did use to crop young Boughs, and mow fresh Grass,
Nor was the Amorous Cretan Queen afeard,
To grow a kind Companion to the Herd.
Thus through the Champian she is madly born
And a wild Bull, to Minos gives the Horn.
'Tis not for Bravery He can love or loath thee,
Then why Pasiphae dost thou richly cloath thee?
Why should'st thou thus thy Face and Looks prepare?
What makest thou with thy Glass ordering thy Hair?
Unless thy Glass could make thee seem a Cow;
But how can Horns grow on that tender Brow?
If Minos please thee, no Adulterer seek thee;
Or if thy Husband Minos do not like thee,
But thy lascivious Thoughts are still increas'd,
Deceive him with a Man, not with a Beast.
Thus by the Queen the wild Woods are frequented,
And leaving the King's Bed, she is contented
To use the Groves, born, by the Rage of Mind,
Even as a Ship with a full Eastern Wind.
Some of these Strumpet Heifers the Queen slew,
Her smoaking Altars their warm Bloods imbrew,
Whilst by the sacrificing Priest she stands,
And gripes their trembling Entrails in her Hands:
At length, the Captain of the Herd beguil'd,
With a Cows skin, by curious Art compil'd,
The longing Queen obtains her full Desire,
And in her Infant's Form berays the Sire.

When Dedalus the Labrinth had built,
In which t'include the Queen Pasiphaes Guilt,
And that the time was now expir'd full,
To inclose the Minotaure half Man, half Bull:
Kneeling he says just Minos end my Moans
And let my Native Soil intomb my Bones:
Or if, dread Sovereign, I deserve no Grace,
Look with a pitious Eye on my Son's Face.
And grant me leave from whence we are exil'd,
Or pity me if you deny my Child.
This and much more he speaks, but all in vain,
The King, both Son and Father will detain,
Which he perceiving says: Now, now, 'tis fit,
To give the World Cause to admire my Wit,
Both Land and Sea, are watcht by Day and Night,
Nor Land nor Sea lies open to our Flight,
Only the Air remains; then let us try,
To cut a Passage thro' the Air and fly.
Jove be auspicious in my Enterprize,
I covet not to mount above the Skies:
But make this Refuge, since I can prepare
No Means to fly, my Lord, but thro' the Air,
Make me immortal, bring me to the Brim
Of the black Stigian, Water, Styx I'll swim.
Oh! human Wit, thou canst invent much ill?
Thou searchest strange Arts, who would think by Skill,
A heavy Man, like a light Bird shou'd stray,
And thro' the empty Heavens find a Way?

He placeth in just Order all his Quills,
Whose Bottoms with resolved Wax he fills;
Then binds them with a Line, and being fast tied,
He placeth them like Oars on either Side,
The tender Lad the downy Feathers blew,
And what his Father meant, he nothing knew.
The Wax he fasten'd, with the Strings he play'd,
Not thinking for his Shoulders they were made,
To whom his Father spake (and then look'd pale)
VVith these swift Ships, we to our Land must sail.
All Passages doth cruel Minos stop,
Only the empty Air he still leaves ope.
That VVay must we; the Land and the rough Deep
Doth Minos bar, the Air he cannot keep.
But in thy VVay beware thou set no Eye
On the Sign Virgo, nor Boetes high:
Look not the black Orion in the Face,
That shakes his Sword, but just with me keep Pace.
Thy VVings are now in fastning, follow me,
I will before thee fly, as thou shalt see
Thy Father mount, or stoop, so I aread thee;
Make me thy Guard, and safely I will lead thee.
If we should soar too near great Phœbus Seat,
The melting VVax will not endure the Heat;
Or if we fly too near the humid Seas,
Our moisten'd Wings we cannot shake with Ease.
Fly between both, and with the Gusts, that rise,
Let thy light Body sail amidst the Skies.
And ever as his little Son he Charms,
He fits the Feathers to his tender Arms:
And shews him how to move his Body light,
As Birds first teach their little young ones Flight.
By this he calls to Counsel all his Wits,
And his own Wings unto his Shoulders fits,
Being about to rise, he fearful quakes,
And in this new way his faint Body shakes.

First e'er he took his Flight, he kiss'd his Son,
Whilst by his Cheeks the brinish Waters run.
There was a Hillock not so towring tall,
As lofty Mountains be, nor yet so small
To be with Valleys even, and yet a Hill;
From this thus both Attempt their uncouth Skill.
The Father moves his Wings, and with Respect
His Eyes upon his wandering Son reflect.
They bear a spacious Course, and the apt Boy
Fearless of Harm, in his new tract doth joy,
And flies more boldly. Now upon them looks
The Fishermen, that angle in the Brooks,
And with their Eyes cast upward, frighted stand.
By this is Samos Isle on their left Hand,
Upon the right Lebinthos they forsake,
Aslipalen and the Fishy Lake.
Shady Pachime full of Woods and Groves.
When the rash Youth, too bold in vent'ring, roves;
Loseth his Guide, and takes his Flight so high,
That the soft Wax against the Sun doth fry,
And the Cords slip that kept the Feathers fast,
So that his Arms have Power upon no Blast.
He fearfully from the high Clouds looks down,
Upon the lower Heavens, whose curl'd Waves frown
At his ambitious Height, and from the Skies
He see black Night and Death before his Eyes.
Still melts the Wax, his naked Arms he shakes,
And thinking to catch hold, no hold he takes.
But now the naked Lad down headlong falls,
And by the Way, he Father, Father calls,
Help Father, help, I die, and as he speaks,
A violent Surge his Course of Language breaks.
Th' unhappy Father, but no Father now,
Cries out aloud, Son Icarus where art thou?
Where art thou Icarus, where dost thou fly?
Icarus where art? When lo he may espy

The Feathers swim, aloud he doth exclaim,
The Earth his Bones, the Sea still bears his Name. Volume 7: Achilles his Concealment of his Sex in the Court of Lycomedes
Now from another World doth sail with Joy,
A welcome Daughter to the King of Troy.
The whilst the Græcians are already come,
(Mov'd with that general wrong 'gainst Ilium)
Achilles in a Smock his Sex doth smother,
And lays the blame upon his careful Mother.
What mak'st thou, great Achilles, teazing Wooll,
When Pallas in a Helm should clasp thy Scull?
What doth these Fingers with fine Threds of Gold?
Which were more fit a Warlike Shield to hold.
Why should that right Hand, Rocke or Tow contain,
By which the Trojan Hector must be slain?
Cast off thy loose Veils, and thy Armour take,
And in thy Hand the Spear of Pallas shake.
Thus Lady-like he with a Lady lay,
Till what he was, her Belly must bewray,
Yet was she forc'd (so should we all believe)
Not to be forc'd so, now her Heart would grieve.
When he should rise from her, still would she cry,
(For he had arm'd him, and his Rock laid by)
And with a soft Voice speak: Achilles stay,
It is too soon to rise, lie down I pray.
And then the Man that forc'd her, she would Kiss,
What force (Deidæmea) call you this?

Volume 7: A Lover's Complaint
From off a Hill, whose Concave Womb reworded
A plaintful Story from a sist'ring Vale,
My Spirits t' attend this double Voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad tun'd Tale,
E'er long espied a fickle Maid full pale,
Tearing of Papers, breaking Rings a twain,
Storming her World with Sorrows Wind and Rain,
Upon her Head a platted Hive of Straw,
Which fortified her Visage from the Sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The Carkass of a Beauty spent and done.
Time had not sithed all, that Youth begun,
Nor Youth all quit, but spight of Heavens fell Rage,
Some Beauty peept, through Lettice of fear'd Age.
Oft did she heave her Napkin to her Eyne,
Which on it had conceited Characters:
Laundring the silken Figures in the Brine,
That season'd Woe had pelleted in Tears:
And often reading what Contents it bears:
As often shriking undistinguish'd Woe,
In Clamours of all Size both high and low.
Sometimes her level'd Eyes their Carriage ride,
As they did batt'ry to these Spheres intend:
Sometimes diverted their poor Balls are ty'd,
To th' orbed Earth; sometimes they do extend,
Their view right on anon their Gazes lend
To every Place at once and no where fixt,
The Mind and Sight distractedly commixt.
Her Hair nor loose nor ty'd in formal Plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless Hand of Pride:
For some untuck'd descended her shev'd Hat,
Hanging her pale and pined Cheek beside,

Some in her threaden Fillet still did bide,
And true to Bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in lose Negligence.
A thousand Favours from a Maund she drew,
Of Amber, Christal, and of beded Jet;
Which one by one she in a River threw,
Upon whose weeping Margent she was set;
Like Usury applying wet to wet;
Or Monarchs Hands, that lets not Bounty fall,
Where Want crys some, but where Excess begs all.
Of folded Schedules-had she many a one;
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore and gave the Flood;
Crack'd many a Ring of posied Gold and Bone,
Bidding them find their Sepulchers in Mud.
Found yet moe Letters sadly pen'd in Blood,
With sleided Silk, feat and affectedly
Enswath'd and seal'd to curious Secrecy.
These often bath'd she in her fluxive Eyes,
And often Kiss'd, and often gave a Tear;
Cried, O false Blood! thou Register of Lies,
What unapproved Witness do'st him bear!
Ink would have seem'd more Black and Damned here!
This said in Top of Rage the Lines she rents,
Big Discontent so breaking their Contents.
A Reverend Man, that Graz'd his Cattle nigh,
Sometime a Blusterer, that the Ruffle knew
Of Court of City, and had let go by,
The swiftest Hours observed as they flew,
Towards this afflicted Fancy fastly drew.
And priviledg'd by Age, desires to know,
In brief, the Grounds and Motives of her Woe?
So slides he down upon his grained Bat;
And comely distant sits he by her Side
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her Grievance with his Hearing to divide.
If that from him there may be ought applied,

Which may her suffering Ecstasie asswage,
'Tis promis'd in the Charity of Age.
Father she says, tho' in me you behold
The Injury of many a blasting Hour,
Let it not tell your Judgment I am Old;
Not Age, but Sorrow, over me hath Power.
I might as yet have been a spreading Flower,
Fresh to my self, if I had self applied
Love to my self, and to no Love beside.
But woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful Suit it was to gain my Grace.
O! one by Nature's Outwards so commended,
That Maidens Eyes stuck over all his Face;
Love lack'd a Dwelling, and made him her Place,
And when in his fair Parts she did abide,
She was new lodg'd and newly deified.
His browny Locks did hang in crooked Curls;
And every light Occasion of the Wind
Upon his Lips their silken Parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find,
Each Eye, that saw him did inchant the Mind.
For on his Visage was in little drawn,
What Largeness thinks in Paradice was sawn.
Small shew of Man was yet upon his Chin,
His Phœnix Down began but to appear,
Like unshorn Velvet, on that termless Skin,
VVhose bare out-brag'd the VVeb it seem'd to wear.
Yet shewed his Visage by that Cost most dear,
And nice Affections wavering stood in doubt
If best 'twere as it was, or best without.
His Qualities were Beauteous as his Form,
For maiden Tongu'd he was and thereof free;
Yet if Men mov'd him, was he such a Storm,
As of 'twixt May and April is to see,
VVhen Winds breath sweet, unruly tho' they be.

His Rudeness so with his authoris'd Youth,
Did livery Falsness in a pride of Truth.
Well could he ride, and often Men would say,
That Horse his Mettal from his Rider takes;
Proud of Subjection, noble by the Sway,
What Rounds, what Bounds, what Course, what Stop he makes,
And Controversie hence a Question takes,
Whether the Horse by him became his Deed,
Or he his manag'd, by th' well-doing Steed?
But quickly on this Side the Verdict went,
His reall habitude gave Life and Grace
To Appertainings and to Ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself not in his Case.
All Aids themselves made fairer by their Place,
Can for Additions, yet their Purpose trim
Piec'd not his Grace, but were all grac'd by him.
So on the Tip of his subduing Tongue
All kind of Arguments and Questions deep,
All Replication prompt, and Reason strong
For his Advantage still did wake and sleep,
To make the VVeeper laugh, the Laugher weep.
He had the Dialect and different Skill,
Catching all Passions in his Craft of Will,
That he did in the general Bosom reign
Of Young, of Old, and Sexes both inchanted,
To dwell with him in Thoughts, or to remain
In personall Duty, following where he haunted,
Consent's bewitcht, e'er he desire have granted,
And dialogu'd for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own Wills and made their Wills obey.
Many there were that did his Picture get
To serve their Eyes and in it put their Mind:
Like Fools, that in th' Imagination set
The goodly Objects, which abroad they find,
Of Lands and Mansions, their's in Thought assign'd,

And labouring in Moe Pleasures to bestow them,
Then the true gouty Land-lord, who doth owe them.
So many have, that never touch'd his Hand,
Sweetly suppos'd them Mistress of his Heart:
My Woful self, that did in Freedom stand,
And was my own fee simple, not in Part,
What with his Art in Youth and Youth in Art,
Threw my Affections in his charmed Power,
Reserv'd the Stalk and gave him all my Flower.
Yet did I not as some my Equals did
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded:
Finding my self in Honour so forbid,
With safest Distance I my Honour shielded,
Experience for me many Bulwarks builded
Of Proofs new bleeding, which remain'd the Foil
Of this false Jewel, and his amorous Spoil.
But ah! whover shunn'd by Precedent,
The destin'd Ill she must her self assay?
Or forc'd Examples 'gainst her own Content,
To put the by-past Perils in her Way?
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay:
For when we rage, Advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our Wits more keen.
Nor gives it Satisfaction to our Blood,
That we must curb it upon others Proof,
To be forbid the Sweets, that seem so good,
For Fear of Harms, that preach in our Behoof.
O Appetite! from Judgment stand aloof!
The one a Pallat hath, that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep and cry it is thy last.
For further I could say this Man's untrue,
And knew the Patterns of his foul beguiling,
Heard where his Plants in others Orchards grew,
Saw how Deceits were gilded in his smiling,
Knew Vows, were ever Brokers to defiling,

Thought Characters and VVords meerly but Art,
And Bastards of his foul adult'rate Heart.
And long upon these Terms I held my City,
Till thus he 'gan besiege me. Gentle Maid,
Have of my suffering Youth some feeling Pity,
And be not of my holy Vows afraid,
What's to you sworn to none was ever said.
For Feasts of Love I have been call'd unto
'Till now did ne'er invite nor never vow,
All my Offences, that abroad you see
Are Errors of the Blood none of the Mind.
Love made them not, with Acture they may be,
Where neither Party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their Shame that so their Shame did find.
And so much less of Shame in me remains,
By how much of me their Reproach contains.
Among the many, that mine Eyes have seen,
Not one whose Flame my Heart so much as warmed,
Or my Affection put to th' smallest Teen,
Or any of my Leisures ever charmed:
Harm have I done to them but ne'er was harmed.
Kept Hearts in Liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd commanding in his Monarchy.
Look here what Tributes wounded Fancy sent me,
Of palid Pearls, and Rubies red as Blood.
Figuring, that they their Passions likewise lent me
Of Grief and Blushes aptly understood;
In bloodless white, and the encrimson'd Mood,
Effects of Terror and dear Modesty,
Encamp'd in Hearts but fighting outwardly.
And lo! behold these Talents of their Hair,
With twisted Mettle amorously empleach'd,
I have receiv'd from many a several Fair;
Their kind Acceptance, weepingly beseech'd,
With th' Annexions of fair Gems inrich'd,

And deep brain'd Sonnets, that did amplifie,
Each Stone's dear Nature, Worth and Quality.
The Diamond! why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
VVhereto his invis'd Properties did tend.
The deep, green Emrald, in whose fresh Regard,
VVeak Sights their sickly Radience do amend.
The Heav'n-hew'd Saphyr and the Ophal blend,
VVith Objects manifold; each several Stone,
With Wit well blazon'd, smil'd, or made some Moan.
Lo! all these Trophies of Affections hot,
Of pensiv'd and subdu'd Desires the Tender,
Nature hath charg'd me, that I hoor'd them not,
But yield them up where I my self must render:
That is to you my Origin and Ender.
For these of Force must your Oblations be,
Since I their Altar, you enpatron me.
Oh! then advance (of yours) that phraseless Hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy Scale of Praise;
Take all these Similes unto your own command,
Hollow'd with Sighs, that burning Lungs did raise;
What me your Minister for you obeys,
Works under you, and to your Audit comes,
Their distract Parcels, incombined Sums.
Lo! this Device was sent me from a Nun,
Or Sister sanctified of holiest Note,
Which late her noble Suit in Court did shun,
Whose rarest Havings made the Blossoms dote;
For she was sought by Spirits of richest Coat,
But kept cold Distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her Living in eternal Love.
But oh! my Sweet, what Labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastring what not strives?
Playing the Place which did no Form receive;
Playing patient Sports in unconstrain'd gives?
She that her Fame so to her self contrives,

The Scars of Battel scapeth by the Flight,
And makes her Absence valiant, not her Might.
Oh! pardon me in that my Boast is true,
The Accident which brought me to her Eye,
Upon the Moment did her Force subdue,
And now she would the caged Cloister flie.
Religious Love put out Religious Eye:
Not to be tempted would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all Liberty procured.
How mighty then you are, Oh hear me tell!
The broken Bosoms, that to me belong,
Have emptied all their Fountains in my Well;
And mine I pour your Ocean all among.
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your Victory us all congest,
As compound Love to physick your cold Breast.
My Parts had Power to charm a sacred Sun,
Tho' disciplin'd I dieted in Grace,
Believ'd her Eyes, when they t'assail begun,
All Vows and Consecrations giving Place.
O! most potential Love, Vow, Bond, nor Space,
In thee hath neither Sting, Knot, nor Confine
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
When thou impressest, what are Precepts worth,
Of stale Example? when thou wilt enflame,
How coldly those Impediments stand forth
Of Wealth, of filial Fear, Law, Kindred, Fame?
Loves Arms are Peace, 'gainst Rule, 'gainst Sense, 'gainst Shame,
And Sweetness in the suffering Pang it bears,
The Alloes of all Forces, Shocks and Fears.
Now all these Hearts, that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding Groans they pine,
And supplicant their Sighs to you extend,
To leave the Battery, that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft Audience, to my sweet Design:

And credent Soul, to that strong bonded Oath,
That shall prefer and undertake my Troth.
This said, his watry Eyes he did dismount,
Whose Sights till then were leavel'd on my Face.
Each Cheek a River running from a Fount,
With brinish Currant down-ward flow'd apace.
Oh! how the Channel to the Stream gave Grace!
Who glaz'd with Christal Gate the glowing Roses,
That Flame through Water which their Hew incloses.
Oh! Father, what a Hell of Witch-craft lies,
In the small Orb of one particular Tear?
But with the Inundation of the Eyes
What rocky Heart to Water will not wear?
What Breast so cold, that is not warmed here?
Oh! cleft Effect! cold Modesty, hot Wrath,
Both Fire from hence, and Chill extincture hath.
For loe his Passion but an Art of Craft,
Even there resolv'd my Reason into Tears;
There my white Stole of Chastity I daft,
Shook off my sober Guards, and civil Fears,
Appear to him, as he to me appears:
All melting, tho' our Drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
In him a plenitude of subtil Matter,
Applied to Cautles, all strange Forms receives
Of burning Blushes, or of weeping Water,
Or swouning Paleness, and he takes and leaves,
In eithers Aptness as it best deceives.
To Blush at Speeches rank, to Weep at Woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at Tragic Shows.
That not a Heart, which in his level came,
Could 'scape the Hail of his all hurting Aim,
Shewing fair Nature is both kind and tame:
And vail'd in them did win whom he would maim,
Against the thing, he sought, he wou'd exclaim,

When he most burnt in Heart-wish'd Luxury,
He preach'd pure Maid, and prais'd cold Chastity.
Thus meerly with the Garment of a Grace,
The naked and concealed Fiend he cover'd,
That th' unexperienc'd gave the Tempter place,
Which like a Cherubin above them hover'd:
Who Young and Simple wou'd not be so lover'd?
Ah! me I fell, and yet do question make,
What I should do again for such a sake.
Oh! that infected Moisture of his Eye!
Oh! that false Fire, which in his Cheek so glow'd!
Oh! that forc'd Thunder from his Heart did flie!
Oh! that sad Breath his spungy Lungs bestow'd!
Oh! all that borrowed Motion seeming owed!
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled Maid. Volume 7: The Amorous Epistle of Paris to Helen

Health unto Lædaes Daughter Priam's Son
Sends in these Lines, whose Health cannot be won,
But by your Gift, in whose Power it may lie
To make me whole or sick; to live or die.
Shall I then speak? or doth my Flame appear
Plain without Index? Oh! 'tis that I fear!
My Love without discovering Smile takes place,
And more, than I could wish shines in my Face.
When I could rather in my Thoughts desire,
To hide the Smoak, till Time display the Fire.
Time, that can make the Fire of Love shine clear,
Untroubled with the misty Smoak of Fear.

But I Disemble it, for who I Pray,
Can Fire conceal? that will it self betray.
Yet if you look, I should affirm that plain
In Words, which in my Countenance I maintain.
I burn, I burn, my Faults I have confess'd,
My Words bear witness how my Looks transgress'd.
Oh! Pardon me, that have confess'd my Error,
Cast not upon my Lines a Look of Terror,
But as your Beauty is beyond compare,
Suit unto that your Looks, (Oh! you most Fair!)
That you my Letter have receiv'd by this
The Supposition glads me and I wish,
By Hope incourag'd, Hope that makes me strong,
You will receive me in some sort e'er long.
I ask no more, than what the Queen of Beauty
Hath promis'd me, for you are mine by Duty.
By her I Claim you, you for me were made,
And she it was my Journey did perswade.
Nor Lady think your Beauty vainly sought;
I by divine Instinct was hither brought;
And to this Enterprize the heavenly Powers
Have given Consent, the Gods Proclaim me yours.
I aim at Wonders, for I covet you,
Yet pardon me, I ask but what's my Due.
Venus her self my Journey hither led,
And gives you freely to my promis'd Bed.
Under her safe Conduct the Seas I past,
Till I arriv'd upon these Coasts at last.
Shiping my self from the Sygean Shore,
Whence unto these Confines my Course I bore.
She made the Surges gentle, the Winds fair,
Nor marvel whence these Calms proceeded are.
Needs must she Power upon the salt-Seals have,
That was Sea-born, Created from a Wave.
Still may she stand in her Ability,
And as she made the Seas with much Facility,

To be through-sail'd, so may she calm my Heat,
And bear my Thoughts to their desired Seat.
My Flames I found not here, no I protest,
I brought them with me closed in my Breast;
My self transported them without Attorney,
Love was the Motive to my tedious Journey.
Not blustring Winter, when he triumph'd most,
Nor any Error drove me to this Coast.
Not led by Fortune where the rough Winds please,
Nor Merchant like for Gain crost I the Seas.
Fulness of Wealth in all my Fleet I see,
I am Rich in all things, save in wanting thee.
No Spoil of petty Nations my Ship seeks;
Nor Land I as a Spie among the Greeks.
VVhat need we? See of all things we have Store.
Compar'd with Troy, alas! your Greece is poor.
For thee I come, thy Fame hath thus far driven me,
VVhom golden Venus hath by promise given me.
I wish'd thee e'er I knew thee, long ago,
Before these Eyes dwelt on this glorious Show.
I saw thee in my Thoughts, know beauteous Dame,
I first beheld you with the Eyes of Fame.
Nor marvel Lady I was stroke so far,
Thus Darts, or Arrows sent from Bows of War
Wound a great Distance off; so was I hit
With a deep smarting Wound that ranckles yet.
For so it pleas'd the Fates, whom least you blame,
I'll tell a true Tale to confirm the same.

When in my Mother's Womb full ripe I lay,
Ready the first Hour to behold the Day,
And she at Point to be deliver'd strait,
And to unlade her of her Royal Freight,
My Birth-hour was delay'd, and that sad Night
A fearful Vision did the Queen affright.

In a Son's Stead, to please the aged Sire,
She dreamt she had brought forth a Brand of Fire.
Frighted she rises, and to Priam goes;
To the old King this ominous Dream she shows.
He to the Priest, the Priest doth this return,
That the Child born shall stately Ilium burn.
Better, than he was ware, the Prophet ghest,
For lo! a kindled Brand flames in thee my Breast.
To prevent Fate a Peasant, I was held,
Till my fair Shape all other Swains excell'd;
And gave the doubtful World Assurance good,
Your Paris was deriv'd from Royal Blood.

Amid the Idean Fields, there is a Place
Remote, full of high Trees, which hide the Face
Of the green mantled Earth, where in thick Rows,
The Oak, the Elm, the Pine, the Pitch-Tree grows.
Here never yet did browze the wanton Ewe,
Nor from his Plot the slow Ox lick the Dew.
The savage Goat, that feeds among the Rocks,
Hath not graz'd here, nor any of their Flocks.
Hence the Dardanian Walls I might espy,
The lofty Towers of Ilium reared high.
Hence I the Seas might from the firm Land see,
Which to behold, I leant me on a Tree.
Believe me, for I speak but what is true,
Down from the Skirt with feather'd Pinions flew,
The Nephew to great Atlas, and doth stand,
With golden Caduceus in his Hand.
This, as the Gods to me thought good to show,
I hold it good, that you the same should know.
Three Goddesses behind young Hermes move;
Great Juno, Pallas, and the Queen of Love.
Who as in Pomp, and Pride of Gate they pass,
Scarce with their Weight they bend the Tops of Grass.

Amaz'd I start, and endlong stands my Hair,
When Maia's Son thus says, abandon Fear,
Thou courteous Swain, that to these Groves repairest,
And freely judge, which of these three is fairest.
And least I should these curious Sentence shun,
He tells me by Jove's Sentence all is done.
And to be Judge I no way can eschew.
This having said, up through the Air he flew.
I straight took Heart-a-grace, and grew more bold;
And there their Beauties one by one behold.
Why am I made the Judge to give this Doom?
Methinks all three are worthy to o'er-come.
To injure two such Beauties, what Tongue dare?
Or prefer one where they be all so fair?
Now this seems fairest, now again that other;
Now would I speak, and now my Thoughts I smother.
And yet at length the Praise of one most sounded,
And from that one my present Love is grounded.
The Goddessess out of their earnest Care,
And Pride of Beauty to be held most Fair,
Seek, with large Arms, and Gifts of wondrous Price,
To their own Thoughts my Censure to entice.
Juno the Wife of Jove doth first inchant me,
To judge her Fairest, she a Crown will grant me.
Pallas her Daughter, next doth undertake me,
Give her the Prize, and valiant she will make me.
I straight devise which can most Pleasure bring,
To be a valiant Soldier, or a King.
Last Venus smiling, came with such a Grace,
As if she sway'd an Empire in her Face.
Let not (said she) these Gifts the Conquest bear,
Combats and Kingdoms are both fraught with Fear.
I'll give thee what thou lovest best, (lovely Swain)
The fairest Saint, that doth on Earth remain,
Shall be thine own; make thou the Conquest mine;
Fair Lædeas fairest Daughter shall be thine.

This said, when with my self I had devised,
And her rich Gift and Beauty jointly prised.
Venus the Victor, o'er the rest is plac'd;
Juno and Pallas leave the Mount disgrac'd.
Mean time my Fate a prosperous Course had run,
And by known Signs King Priam call'd me Son.
The Day of my restoring is kept Holy
Among the Saints-Days, consecrated solely
To my Remembrance, being a Day of Joy,
For ever in the Calenders of Troy.

As I wish you, I have been wish'd by others,
The fairest Maids by me would have been Mothers.
Of all my Favours, I bestow'd not any,
You only may enjoy the Loves of many.
Nor by the Daughters of great Dukes and Kings,
Have I alone been sought, whose Marriage Rings
I have turn'd back; but by a Strain more high,
By Nymphs and Faries, such as never die.
No sooner were you promis'd as my Due,
But I (all hated) to remember you.
Waking, I saw your Image, if I dreamt,
Your beauteous Figure still appear'd to tempt,
And urge this Voyage; till your Face excelling,
These Eyes beheld, my Dreams were all of Hellen.
Imagine how your Face should now incite me,
Being seen, that unseen did so much delight me.
If I was scorch'd so far off from the Fire,
How am I burnt to Cinders thus much nigher.
Nor could I longer owe my self this Treasure,
But thro' the Ocean I must search my Pleasure.
The Phrygyan Hatches to the Roots are put
Of the Idean Pines, asunder cut
The Wood-land Mountain yielded me large Fees,
Being despoil'd of all her talest Trees.

From whence we have squar'd out unnumbred Beams,
That must be wash'd within the Marine Streams.
The grounded Oaks are bowed, tho' stiff as Steel,
And to the tough Ribs is the bending Keel
Woven by Ship-wrights Craft, then the Main-Mast,
A cross whose Middle is the Sale-Yard plac'd.
Tackles and Sails, and next you may discern,
Our painted Gods upon the hooked Stern.
The God, that bears me on my happy Way,
And is my Guide, is Cupid. Now the Day
In which the last Stroke of the Hammer's heard
Within our Navy, in the East appear'd:
And I must now lanch forth; (so the Fates please)
To seek Adventures in the Eagean Seas.
My Father and my Mother move Delay,
And by Intreaties would inforce my Stay.
They hang about my Neck, and with their Tears,
Wo me, deferr my Journey; but their Fears
Can have no Power to keep me from thy Sight.
And now Cassandra, full of sad Affright,
With lose dishevel'd Tramels, madly skips,
Just in the Way betwixt me and my Ships.
Oh! whether wilt thou Head-long run, she cries?
Thou bearest Fire with thee, whose Smoak up-flies
Unto the Heavens (Oh Jove!) thou little fearest
What quenchless Flames thou thro' the Water bearest.
Cassandra was to true a Prophetess,
Her quenchless Flames she spake of (I confess,)
My hot Desires burn in my Breast so fast,
That no red Furnace hotter Flames can cast.

I pass the City Gates, my Bark I boar'd,
The favourable Winds calm Gales afford,
And fill my Sails; unto your Land I Steer,
For whether else (his Course) should Paris bear?

Your Husband entertains me as his Guest,
And all this hapneth by the God's behest.
He shews me all his Pastures, Parks, and Fields,
And every rare thing Lacedemon yeilds.
He holds himself much pleased with my Being,
And nothing hides, that he esteems worth seeing.
I am on Fire, till I behold your Face,
Of all Achaias Kingdom the sole-Grace.
All other curious Objects I defie,
Nothing but Hellen can content mine Eye:
Whom when I saw, I stood transform'd with Wonder,
Senseless, as one struck dead by Jove's sharp Thunder.
As I revive, my Eyes I rowl and turn,
Whilst my flam'd Thoughts with hotter Fancies burn.
Even so as I remember looks Love's Queen,
When she was last in Phrygian Ida seen,
Unto which Place by Fortune I was train'd,
Where, by my Censure, she the Conquest gain'd.
But had you made a fourth in that Contention,
Of Venus Beauty, there had been no mention.
Hellen assuredly had born from all
The Prize of Beauty, the bright golden Ball.

Only of you may this your Kingdom boast,
By you it is renown'd in every Coast.
Rumor hath every where your Beauty blaz'd,
In what remote Clime is not Hellen prais'd?
From the bright Eastern Sun's up-rise, inquire,
Even to his down-fall where he slacks his Fire;
There lives not any of your Sex that dare,
Contend with you that are proclaim'd so fair.
Trust me, for Truth I speak: Nay what's most true,
Too sparingly the World hath spoke of you.
Fame that hath undertook your Name to blaze,
Play'd but the envious Housewife in your Praise.

More, than Report could Promise, or Fame blazon,
Are these Divine Perfections, that I gaze on.
These were the same that made Duke Theseus lavish,
Who in thy Prime and Nonage did thee ravish.
A worthy Rape for such a worthy Man;
Thrice happy Ravisher, to seize thee then,
When thou wert stript stark naked to the Skin,
A Sight of Force to make the Gods to Sin.
Such is your Country's Guise at Seasons when,
With naked Ladies they mixt naked Men.
That he did steal thee from thy Friends, I praise him,
And for that Deed, I to the Heavens will raise him.
That he return'd thee back, by Jove I wonder,
Had I been Theseus, he that should assunder,
Have parted us, or snatch'd thee from my Bed,
First from my Shoulders should have par'd my Head.
So rich a Purchase, such a glorious Prey,
Should constantly have been detain'd for aye.
Could these my strong Arms possibly unclasp,
Whilst in their amorous Folds they Hellen grasp?
Neither by free Constraint, nor by free Giving,
Could you depart that Compass, and I living.
But if by rough Inforce I must restore you,
Some Fruits of Love, (which I so long have bore you)
I first would reap, and some sweet Favour gain,
That all my Suit were not bestow'd in vain.
Either with me you shall abide and stay,
Or for your Pass your Maiden-Head should pay.
Or say, I spar'd you that, yet would I try,
What other Favour, I could else come by.
All that belongs to love, I would not miss,
You should not let me both to clip and kiss.

Give me your Heart, fair Queen, my Heart you owe,
And what my Resolution is you know.

Till the last Fire my breathless Body take,
The Fire within my Breast can never slake.
Before large Kingdoms I preferr'd your Face,
And Juno's Love, and potent Gifts disgrace.
To fold you in my amorous Arms I chus'd,
And Pallas Vertues scornfully refus'd.
When they with Venus on the Hill of Ide,
Made me the Judge their Beauties to decide;
Nor do I yet repent me, having took,
Beauty, and Strength, and Scepter'd Rule forsook.
Methinks I chus'd the best, (nor think it strange)
I still persist, and never mean to change:
Only that my Imployment be not vain,
Oh! you more Worth than any Empires gain!
Let me intreat, least you my Birth should scorn,
Or Parentage, Know I am Royal born.
By marrying me, you shall not wrong your State,
Nor be a Wife to one degenerate.
Search the Records where we did first begin,
And you shall find the Pleiads of our Kin;
Nay Jove himself, all others to forbear,
That in our Stock renowned Princes were.
My Father of all Asia reigns sole King,
Whose boundless Coast scarce any feather'd Wing
Can give a Girdle to, a happier Land,
A Neighbour to the Ocean cannot stand.
There in a narrow Compass you may see,
Cities and Towers more, than may numbred be.
The Houses gilt, rich Temples that excel,
And you will say, I near the great Gods dwell.
You shall behold high Iliums lofty Towers,
And Troy's brave Walls built by no mortal Powers;
But made by Phœbus the great God of Fire,
And by the Touch of his melodious Lyre.
If we have People to inhabite, when
The sad Earth groans to bear such Troops of Men.

Judge Hellen, likewise when you come to Land,
The Asian Women shall admiring stand,
Saluting thee with Welcome, more and less,
In pressing Throngs and Numbers, numberless.
More, than our Courts can hold of you (most fair)
You to your self will say, alas! how bare,
And poor Achaia is, when, with great Pleasure,
You see each House contain a City's Treasure.

Mistake me not, I Sparta do not scorn,
I hold the Land blest where my Love was born;
Tho' barren else, rich Sparta Hellen bore,
And therefore I that Province must adore.
Yet is your Land, methinks, but lean and empty,
You worthy of a Clime, that flows with Plenty;
Full Troy I prostrate, it is yours by Duty,
This petty Seat becomes not your rich Beauty.
Attendance, Preparation, Curt'sie, State,
Fit such a Heavenly Form, on which should wait,
Cost, fresh Variety, delicious Diet,
Pleasure, Contentment, and luxurious Riot.
What Ornaments we use, what Fashions feign,
You may perceive by me and my proud Train.
Thus we attire our Men, but with more Cost
Of Gold and Pearl, the rich Gowns are imbost,
Of our chief Ladies, ghess by what you see,
You may be soon induc'd to credit me.

Be tractable, fair Spartan, nor contemn
A Trojan born, deriv'd from Royal Stem.
He was a Trojan, and allied to Hector,
That waits upon Jove's Cup, and fills him Nector.
A Trojan did the fair Aurora wed,
And nightly slept within her Roseat Bed.
The Goddessess, that ends Night, and enters Day,
From our fair Trojan Coast stole him away.

Anchises was a Trojan, whom Love's Queen,
(Making the Trees of Ida a thick Screen
'Twixt Heaven and her) oft lay with. View me well,
I am a Trojan too, in Troy I dwell.
Thy Husband Menelaus hither bring,
Compare our Shapes, our Years, and every thing.
I make you Judgess, wrong me if you can;
You needs must say, I am the properer Man.
None of my Line hath turn'd the Sun to Blood,
And robb'd his Steeds of their Ambrosial Food.
My Father grew not from the Caucass Rock,
Nor shall I graft you in a bloody Stock.
Priam ne'er wrong'd the guiltless Soul, or further,
Made the Myrtoan Sea look red with Murther;
Nor thirsteth my great Grand-Sire in the Lake,
Of Lethe, Chin deep, yet no Thirst can slake;
Nor after ripen'd Apples vainly skips,
Who flie him still, and yet still touch his Lips.
But what of this? If you be so deriv'd,
You notwithstanding are no Right depriv'd.
You grace your Stock, and being so Divine,
Jove is of force compell'd into your Line.

Oh Mischief! whilst I vainly speak of this,
Your Husband all-unworthy of such Bliss,
Injoys you this long Night, enfolds your VVaste,
And where he lifts, may boldly touch and taste.
So when you sat at Table, many a Toy,
Passeth between you my vext Soul t'annoy.
At such high Feasts I wish my Enemy sit,
VVhere Discontent attends on every Bit.
I never yet was plac'd at any Feast,
But oft it irkt me, that I was your Guest.
That which offends me most, thy rude Lord knows,
For still his Arms about thy Neck he throws;

Which I no sooner spy but I grow mad,
And hate the Man whose courting makes me sad.
Shall I be plain? I am ready to sink down,
When I behold him wrap you in his Gown;
When you sit smiling on his amorous Knee,
His Fingers press, where my Hands itch to be.
But when he hugs you I am forc'd to frown,
The Meat I'm eating will by no means down,
But sticks half way; amidst these Discontents,
I have observ'd you laugh at my Laments,
And with a scornful, yet a wanton Smile,
Deride my Sighs and Groans. Oft to beguile
My Passions, and to quench my fiery Rage,
By quaffing Healths I've thought my Flame t' asswage;
But Bacchus full Cups make my Flames burn higher,
Add Wine to Love, and you add Fire to Fire.
To shun the Sight of many a wanton Feat,
Betwixt your Lord and you, I shift my Seat,
And turn my Head, but thinking of your Grace,
Love screws my Head to gaze back on your Face.
What were I best to do? To see you play
Mads me, and I perforce must turn away,
And to forbare the Place where you abide,
Would kill me dead, should I but start aside.
As much as lies in me I strive to bury,
The Shape of Love, and in Mirths spight I seem merry.
But oh! the more I seek it to suppress,
The more my blabbing Looks my Love profess.

You know my Love which I in vain should hide,
Would God it did appear to none beside.
Oh! Jove how often have I turn'd my Cheek,
To hide th' apparant Tears, that Passage seek
From forth my Eyes, and to a Corner stept,
Lest any Man should ask wherefore I wept.

How often have I told you piteous Tales,
Of constant Lovers, and how Love prevails.
When such great Heed to my Discourse I took,
That every Accent suited to your Look.
In forged Names my self I represented,
The Lover so perplex'd, and so tormented,
If you will know? Behold I am the same,
Paris was meant in that true Lover's Name.
As often, that I might the more securely,
Speak loose immodest Words, that sound impurely,
That they offenceless might your sweet Ears touch,
I have lispt them up, like one had drunk too much.
Once I remember, your loose Vail betray'd,
Your naked Skin, and a fair Passage made,
To my enamour'd Eye. Oh! Skin much brighter,
Than Snow, or purest Milk, in Colour whiter
Than your fair Mother Læda, when Jove grac'd her,
And in the Shape of feathered Swan embrac'd her.
Whilst at this ravishing Sight I stood amaz'd,
And without Interruption freely gaz'd,
The wreathed Handle of the Bowl I grasp'd,
Fell from my hold, my strengthless Hand unclasp'd.
A Goblet at that time I held by Chance,
And down it fell, for I was in a Trance.
Kiss your fair Daughter, and to her I skip,
And snatch your Kisses from your sweet Child's Lip.
Sometimes I throw my self along, and lie,
Singing Love-Songs, and if you cast your Eye,
On my effeminate Gesture, I still find,
Some pretty cover'd Signs to speak my Mind;
And then my earnest Suit bluntly invades,
Aethra and Climene your two cheif Maids.
But they return me Answers full of Fear,
And to my Motions lend no further Ear.
Oh! that you were the Prize of some great Strife,
And he that wins, might claim you for his Wife.

Hyppomenes with swift Atlanta ran
And at one Course the Goal and Lady wan.
Even she, by whom so many Suiters perish'd
Was in the Bosom of her new Love cherish'd.
So Hercules for Dejaneira strove,
Brake Achelous Horn, and gain'd his Love.
Had I such Liberty, such Freedom granted,
My Resolution never could be daunted.
Your self should find, and all the World shou'd see,
Hellen a Prize alone reserv'd for me.
There is not left me any Means (most fair)
To court you now, but by entreats and Prayer;
Unless (as it becomes me) you think meet,
That I should prostrate fall, and kiss your Feet.
Oh! all the Honour, that our last Age wins,
Thou Glory of the two Tindarian Twins!
Worthy to be Jove's Wife, in Heaven to reign,
Were you not Jove's own Daughter, of his Strain.
To the Sygean confines I will carry thee,
And in the Temple of great Pallas marry thee.
Or in this Island where I vent my Moans,
I'll beg a Tomb for my exil'd Bones.
My Wound is not a slight Raze with an Arrow,
But it hath pierc'd my Heart, and burnt my Marrow.
This Prophesie my Sister oft hath sounded,
That by an heavenly Dart I should be wounded.
Oh! then forbear (fair Hellen) to oppose you
Against the Gods, they say I shall not lose you.
Yeild you to their hehest, and you shall find,
The Gods to your Petitions likewise kind.
A thousand things at once are in my Brain,
Which that I may essentially complain,
And not in Papers empty all my Head,
Anon at Night receive me to your Bed.
Blush you at this! or Lady do you fear,
To violate the Nuptial Laws austere?

Oh! simple Hellen! Foolish I might say,
What Profit reap you to be chast I pray?
Is't possible, that you a World to win,
Should keep that Face, that Beauty without Sin?
Rather you must your glorious Face exchange,
For one (less fair) or else not seem so strange.
Beauty and Chastity at variance are,
'Tis hard to find one Woman chaste and fair.
Venus will not have Beauty over aw'd,
High Jove himself stolen Pleasures will applaud,
And by such theevish Pastimes we may gather,
How Jove 'gainst wedlocks Laws, became your Father.
He and your Mother Læda both transgress'd,
When you were got she bare a tender Breast.
What Glory can you gain Love Sweets to smother?
Or to be counted chaster, than your Mother?
Profess strict Chastity, when with great Joy,
I lead you as my Bride-espous'd through Troy.
Then I intreat you rein your Pleasures in,
I wish thy Paris may be all thy Sin.
If Citherea her firm Covenant keep,
Tho' I within your Bosom nightly Sleep,
We shall not much misdo, but so offend,
That we by Marriage may our Guilt amend.

Your Husband hath himself this business aided,
And tho' (not with his Tongue) he hath perswaded,
By all his Deeds (as much) least he should stay,
Our private Meetings, he is far away,
Of Purpose rid unto the farthest West,
That he might leave his Wife unto his Guest.
No fitter time he could have found to visit,
The Chrisean royal Scepter, and to sieze it.
O! simple, simple Husband! but he's gone,
And going, left you this to think upon.

Fair Wife (quoth he) I prethee in my Place,
Regard the Trojan Prince, and do him Grace.
Behold, a Witness I against you stand,
You have been careless of this kind Command.
Count from his first Days Journey, never since,
Did you Regard or Grace the Trojan Prince.
What think you of your Husband? that he knows
The worth and value of the Face he owes?
Who (but a Fool) such Beauty wou'd endanger,
Or trust it to the mercy of a Stranger.
Then (royal Queen) if neither may intreat,
My quenchless Passion, nor Loves raging heat,
Can win you; we are woo'd both to this Crime,
Even by the fit Advantage of the time,
Either to love sweet Sport we must agree;
Or shew our selves to be worse Fools than he.
He took you by the Hand the Hour he rode,
And knowing, I with you must make abode,
Brings you to me what shou'd I further say,
It was his Mind to give you quite away.

What meant he else? Then let's be blith and jolly,
And make the best use of your Husband's Folly.
What should we do? Your Husband is far gone,
And this cold Night (poor Soul) you lie alone.
I want a Bedfellow, so do we either,
What lets us then, but that we lie together?
You slumbring think of on me, on you I dream,
Both our Desires are fervent and extream.
Sweet, then appoint the Night, why do you stay?
O Night, more clearer, than the brightest Day.
Then I dare freely speak, protest, and swear,
And of my Vows the Gods shall Record bear.
Then will I seal the Contract and the Strife,
From that Day forward, we are Man and Wife.

Then questionless I shall so far perswade,
That you with me shall Troys rich Coast invade,
And with your Phrygian Guest at last agree,
Our potent Kingdom and rich Crown to see.
But if you (blushing) fear the vulgar Bruit,
That says, you follow me, to me make Suit,
Fear it not Hellen; I'll so work with Fame,
I will (alone) be guilty of all blame.

Duke Theseus was my Instance and so were
Your Brother's Lady, can I come more near
To ensample my Attempts by? Theseus haled
Hellen perforce: your Brothers they prevailed
With the Leucippian Sisters, now from these,
I'll count my self the fourth (if Hellen please.)
Our Trojan Navy rides upon the Coast,
Rig'd, Arm'd, and Man'd, and I can proudly boast,
The Banks are high, why do you longer stay?
The Winds and Oars are ready to make way.
You shall be like a high Majestick Queen,
Led through the Dardan City, and be seen,
By Millions, who your State having commended,
Will (wondring) swear, some Goddess is descended.
Where e'er you walk the Priests shall Incense burn,
No way you shall your Eye or Body turn
But sacrificed Beasts the ground shall beat,
And bright religious fires the Welkin heat.
My Father, Mother, Brother, Sisters, all
Ilium and Troy in pomp Majestical,
Shall with rich Gifts present you (but alas)
Not the least part (so far they do surpass)
Can my Epistle speak, you may behold
More, than my Words or Writings can unfold.

Nor fear the Bruit of War, or threatning Steel,
When we are fled, to dog us at the Heel.

Or that all Græcia will their Powers unite,
Of many ravish'd, can you one recite,
Whom War repurchas'd? these be idle Fears,
Rough blustering, Boreas fair Orithea bears,
Unto the Land of Thrace, yet Thrace still free,
And Athens rais'd no rude Hostility.
In winged Pegasus did Jason sail;
And from great Colchos he Medea stale;
Yet Thessaly you see can shew no Scar,
Of former Wounds in the Thessalian War?
He that first ravish'd you, in such a Fleet,
As ours is, Ariadne brought from Creete.
Yet Minos, and Duke Theseus were agreed,
About that Quarrel, not a Breast did bleed.
Less is the Danger (trust me) then the Fear,
That in these vain and idle Doubts appear.
But say, rude VVar should be proclaim'd at length,
Know, I am valiant, and have sinowy Strength.
The VVeapons, that I use are apt to kill.
Asia besides, more spacious Fields can fill,
VVith armed Men than Greece. Amongst us are
More perfect Soldiers, more Beasts apt for VVar.
Nor can thy Husband Menelaus be
Of any high Spirit and Magnanimity;
Or so well prov'd in Arms. For Hellen I,
Being but a Lad, have made my Enemies fly.
Regain'd the Prey from out the Hands of Thieves,
VVho had despoild our Herds, and stol'n our Beeves.
By such Adventures I my Name obtain'd,
(Being but a Lad) the Conquest I have gain'd,
Of youg Men in their Prime, who much could do,
Deiphebus, Ilioneas too
I have o'ercome in many sharp Contentions;
Nor think these are my vain and forg'd Inventions;
Or that I only Hand to Hand can fight,
My Arrows when I please shall touch the VVhite.

I am expert in the Quarry and the Bow,
You cannot boast your heartless Husband so.
Had you the Power in all things to supply me,
And should you nothing in the World deny me;
To give me such a Hector to my Brother,
You could not, the Earth bears not such another.
By him alone all Asia is well mann'd;
He like an Enemy against Greece shall stand
Oppos'd to your best Fortunes, wherefore strive you,
You do not know his Valour that must wive you?
Or what hid Worth is in me but at length,
You will confess when you have prov'd my Strength.
Thus either War shall still our Steps pursue,
Or Greece shall fall in Troy's all-conquering View.
Nor would I fear for such a Royal Wife,
To set the universal World at Strife.
To gain rich Prizes, Men will venture far,
The Hope of Purchase makes us bold in War.
If all the World about you should contend,
Your Name would be eterniz'd without End,
Onely be bold, and fearless may we sail
Into my Country, with a prosperous Gale!
If the Gods grant me my expected Day,
I to the full shall all these Covenants pay.

No sooner came mine Eye unto the Sight,
Of thy rude Lines, but I must needs re-write.
Dar'st thou (Oh shameless) in such heinous wise,
The Laws of Hospitality despise?
And being a Stranger, from thy Countries Reach,
Solicite a chast Wife to Wedlock's Breach?

Was it for this our free Tenarian Port,
Receiv'd thee and thy Train, in friendly sort?
And when great Neptune nothing could appease,
Gave thee safe Harbour from the stormy Seas?
Was it for this, our Kingdoms Arms spread wide,
To entertain thee from the Water-side?
Yet thou of foreign Soil remote from hence,
A Stranger, coming we scarce knew from whence.
Is perjur'd Wrong the Recompence of Right?
Is all our Friendship guerdond with Despight?
I doubt me then, whether in our Court doth tarry
A friendly Guest, or a fierce Adversary.
Nor blame me, for if justly you consider,
And these Presumptions well compare together,
So simple my Complaint will not appear,
But you your self must needs excuse my Fear.
Well, hold me simple, much it matters not,
Whilst I preserve my chaste Name far from Spot;
For when I seem touch'd with a bashful Shame,
It shews how highly I regard my Fame.
For when I seem sad, my Countenance is not fained,
And when I lower, my Look is unconstrained.
But say my Brow be cloudy, my Name's clear,
And reverently you shall of Hellen hear.
No Man from me adulterate Spoils can win,
For to this Hour I have sported without Sin;
Which makes me in my Heart the more to wonder,
What Hope you have in time to bring me under.
Or from mine Eye what Comfort thou canst gather,
To pity thee, and not despise thee rather.
Because once Theseus hurried me from hence,
And did to me a kind of Violence,
Follows it therefore, I am of such Price,
That ravish'd once, I should be ravish'd twice?
Was it my Fault, because I striv'd in vain,
And wanted Strength his Fury to restrain?

He flattered, and spake fair, I strugled still,
And what he got was much against my Will.
Of all his Toil, he reap'd no wished Fruit,
For with my wrangling, I withstood his Suit.
At length, I was restor'd, untoucht, and clear,
In all my Rape, I suffer'd naught (save Fear)
A few untoward Kisses, he (God wot)
Of further Favours, he could never boast.
Dry, without Relish, by much Striving got,
And them with much ado, and to his Cost.
I doubt your Purpose aims at greater Blisses,
And hardly would alone be pleas'd with Kisses.
Thou hast some further Aim, and seek'st to do,
What (Jove defend) I should consent unto.
He bore not thy bad Mind, but did restore me,
Unblemish'd, to the Place from whence he bore me.
The Youth was bashful, and thy Boldness lackt,
And 'tis well known, repented his bold Fact.
Theseus repented, so should Paris do,
Succeed in Love, and in Repentance too.
Nor am I angry; who can angry be
With him that loves her? If your Heart agree,
With your kind Words, your Suit I could applaud.
So I were sure your Lines were void of Fraud.
I cast not these strange Doubts, or this Dispense,
Like one, that were bereft all Confidence.
Nor that I with my self am in Disgrace,
Or do not know the Beauty of my Face.
But because too much Trust hath damag'd such,
As have believ'd Men in their Loves too much.
And now the general Tongue of Women saith,
Mens Words are full of Treason, void of Faith.

Let others sin, and Hours in Pleasures waste,
'Tis rare to find the sober Matron chast.

Why, say it be that Sin prevails with fair ones,
May not my Name be rank'd among the rare ones?
Because my Mother Læda was beguil'd,
Must I stray too, that am her eldest Child?
I must confess my Mother made a Rape,
But Jove beguil'd her in a borrow'd Shape.
When she (poor Soul) not dreamt of God nor Man,
He trod her like a milk-white feather'd Swan.
She was deceiv'd by Error, if I yield
To your unjust Request, nothing can shield
Me from Reproach; I cannot plead concealing.
'Twas in her Error: 'Tis in me Plain-dealing.
She happily err'd; he that her Honour spilt,
Had in himself full Power to salve the Guilt.
Her Error happy'd me too (I confess)
If to be Jove's Child, be a Happiness.

To omit high Jove, of whom I stand in awe,
As the great Grandsire to our Father-in-Law.
To pass the Kin I claim from Tantalus,
From Pelops, and from noble Tyndarus.
Læda by Jove, in Shape of Swan, beguil'd,
Her self so chang'd, and by him made with Child,
Proves Jove my Father. Then you idely strive,
Your Name from Gods and Princes to derive.
What need you of old Priam make Relation?
Laomedon, or your great Phrygian Nation?
Say, all be true; what then? He of whom most,
To be of your Alliance you so boast.
Jove (five Degrees at least) from you removed,
To be the first from me, is plainly proved.
And tho' (as I believed well) Troy may stand,
Powerful by Sea, and full of Stregth by Land;
And no Dominion to your State superior,
I hold our Clime nothing to Troy inferior.

Say, you in Riches pass us, or in Number
Of People, whom you boast your Streets to comber;
Yet yours a barbarous Nation is, I tell you,
And in that Kind, do we of Greece excel you.
Your rich Epistle doth such Gifts present,
As might the Goddesses themselves content;
And wooe them to your Pleasure, but if I
Should pass the Bounds of Shame, and tread awry:
If ever you should put me to my Shifts,
Your self should move me more, than all your Gifts.
Or if I ever shall transgress by stealth,
It shall be for your Sake, not for your VVealth.
But as your Gifts I scorn not, so such seem
Most precious, where the Giver we esteem.
More then your Presence, it shall Hellen please,
That you for her have past the stormy Seas;
That she hath caus'd your Toil, that you respect her,
And more, than all your Trojan Dames affect her.

But ye're a VVag in Troth, the Notes and Signs,
You make at Table, in the Meats and VVines,
I have observ'd, when I least seem'd to mind them,
For at the first my curious Eye did find them.
Sometimes (you VVanton) your fixt Eye advances,
His Brightness against mine, darting sweet Glances,
Out-gazing me with such a stedfast Look,
That my daz'd Eyes their Splendor have forsook;
And then you sigh, and by and by you stretch
Your amorous Arm outright, the Bowl to reach,
That next me stands, making Excuse to sip,
Just in the self-same Place, that kiss'd my Lip.
How oft have I observ'd your Finger make,
Tricks and conceited Signs, which straight I take?
How often doth you Brow your smooth Thoughts cloke,
VVhen to (my seeming) it hath almost spoke?

And still I fear'd my Husband would have spy'd you,
In troth you are to blame, and I must chide you.
You are too manifest a Lover, (tush)
At such known Signs I could not chuse but blush.
And to my self I oft was forc'd to say,
This Man at nothing shames. Is this (I pray)
Ought save the Truth? oft times upon the Board,
Where Hellen was ingraven, you the Word
Amo have under-writ, in new spilt Wine.
(Good sooth) at first I could not skan the Line,
Nor understand your Meaning. Now (Oh spight)
My self am now taught, so to read and write.
Should I offend as Sin to me is strange,
These Blandishments have Power chaste Thoughts to change,
Or if I could be moved to step astray
These would provoke me to lascivious Play,
Besides, I must confess, you have a Face,
So admirable rare, so full of Grace,
That it hath Power to woo, and to make Seisure,
Of the most bright chaste Beauties to your Pleasure.
Yet had I rather stainless keep my Fame,
Than to a Stranger hazard my good Name.
Make me your Instance, and forbear the Fair,
Of that which most doth please you, make most spare.
The greatest Vertues of which wise Men boast,
Is to abstain from that, which pleaseth most.
How many gallant Youths (think you) desire,
That which you covet, scorch'd with the self-same Fire?
Are all the World Fools? Only Paris wise?
Or is there none save you have judging Eyes?
No, no, you view no more, than others see,
But you are plainer and more bold with me.
You are more earnest to pursue your Game;
I yield you not more Knowledge, but less Shame.
I would to God, that you had sail'd from Troy,
When my Virginity and Bed to enjoy,

A thousand gallant Princely Suiters came.
Had I beheld young Paris, I proclaim,
Of all those thousand I had made you chief,
And Spartan Menelaus to his Grief,
Should to my Censure have subscrib'd and yielded.
But now (alas!) your Hopes are weakly builded,
You covet Goods possest, Pleasures fore-tasted.
Tardy you come, that should before have hasted.
What you desire, another claims as due,
As I could wish t'have been espous'd to you;
So let me tell you, since it is my Fate,
I hold me happy in my present State.
Then cease, fair Prince, an idle Suit to move,
Seek not to harm her, whom you seem to love.
In my contented State let me be guided,
As both my States and Fortunes have provided,
Nor in so vain a Quest your Spirits toil,
To seek at my Hands an unworthy Spoil.

But see how soon poor Women are deluded,
Venus her self this Covenant hath concluded.
For in the Idæan Vallies you espy,
Three Goddesses stripp'd naked to your Eye;
And when the first had promis'd you a Crown,
The second, Fortitude and Wars Renown;
The third, bespake you thus: Crown, nor War's Pride
Will I bequeath, but Hellen to thy Bride.
I scarce believe those high immortal Creatures,
VVould to your Eye expose their naked Features.
Or say the first Part of your Tale be pure,
And meet with Truth, the second's false I'm sure,
In which poor I was thought the greatest Meed,
In such a high Cause by the Gods decreed.
I have not of my Beauty such Opinion,
T' imagine it to be preferr'd before Dominion,

Or Fortitude; nor can your Words perswade me,
The greatest Gift of all, the Goddess made me.
It is enough to me, Men praise my Face,
But from the Gods, I merit no such Grace.
Nor doth the Praise, you charge me with, offend me,
If Venus do not enviously commend me.
But lo! I grant you, and imagine true,
Your free Report, claiming your Praise as due.
Who would in pleasing Things call Fame a Lyar,
But give that Credit, which we most desire.

That we have mov'd these Doubts be not you griev'd griev'd,
The greatest Wonders are the least believed,
Know then I first am pleas'd that Venus ought me
Such undeserved Grace. Next, that you thought me
The greatest Meed. Nor Scepter, nor War's Fame,
Did you preferr before poor Hellen's Name.
(Hard Heart, 'tis time thou shouldst at last come down)
Therefore I am your Valour, I your Crown.
Your Kindness conquers me do what I can;
I were hard-hearted, not to love this Man.;
Obdurate I was never, and yet coy,
To favour him whom I can ne'er enjoy.
What Profits it the barren Sands to plow,
And in the Furrows our Affections sow.
In the sweet Theft of Venus I am rude,
And know not how my Husband to delude.
Now I these Love-lines write, my Pen I vow,
Is a new Office taught, not known till now.
Happy are they, that in this Trade have Skill,
(Alas! I am a Fool) and shall be still;
And having till this Hour not stept astray,
Fear in these Sports, least I should miss my Way.
The Fear (no doubt) is greater, than the Blame,
I stand confounded and amaz'd with Shame;

And with the very Thought of what you seek,
Think every Eye fixt on my guilty Cheek.
Nor are these Suppositions meerly vain,
The murmuring People whisperingly complain,
And my Maid Aethra hath by listning slily
Brought me such News, as touch'd mine Honour highly.
Wherefore (dear Lord) dissemble or desist,
Being over-Eyed, we cannot as we list
Fashion our Sports, our Loves pure Harvest gather,
But why should you desist? Dissemble rather.
Sport (but in secret) sport where none may see,
The greater, but not greatest Liberty
Is limitted to our lacivious Play,
That Menalaus is far hence away.
My Husband about great Affairs is posted,
Leaving his Royal Guest securely hosted,
His Business was important and material,
Being employed about a Crown imperial.
And as he now is mounted on his Steed,
Ready on his long Journey to proceed:
Even as he questions to depart or stay,
Sweet Heart (quoth I) Oh! be not long away.
With that he reach'd me a sweet parting Kiss,
(How loath he was to leave me, ghess by this)
Farewel fair Wife (saith he) bend all thy Cares
To my domestick Business, home Affairs.
But as the thing that I affection best,
Sweet Wife, look well unto my Trojan Guest.
It was no sooner out, but with much Pain
My itching Spleen from Laughter I restrain,
Which striving to keep in and bridle still,
At length I wrung forth these few Words (I will.)
He's on his Journey to the Isle of Crete,
But think not we may therefore safely meet,
He is so absent, that as present I
Am still within his Reach, his Ear, his Eye;

And tho' abroad, his Power at home commands;
For know you not Kings have long reaching Hands.
The Fame for Beauty you besides have given me,
Into a great Exigent hath driven me.
The more your Commendation fill'd his Ear,
The more just Cause my Husband hath to fear.
Nor marvel you the King hath left me so,
Into remote and foreign Climes to go;
Much Confidence he dares repose in me,
My Carriage, Haviour and my Modesty,
My Beauty he mistrusts, my Heart relies in,
My Face he Fears, my chast Life he affies in.

To take Time now when Time is, you perswade me,
And with his apt fit Absence you invade me:
I would, but fear, nor is my Mind well set,
My Will wou'd further, what my Fear doth let.
I have no Husband here, and you no Wife,
I love your Shape, you mine, dear as your Life.
The Nights seem long, to such as sleep alone,
Our Letters meet to enterchange our Moan.
You judge me beauteous, I esteem you fair,
Under one Roof we Lovers lodged are.
And (let me die) but every thing consider,
Each thing perswades us we shall lie together.
Nothing we see molests us, nought we hear,
And yet my forward Will is slack through Fear.
I would to God, that what you ill perswade,
You could as well compel, so I were made,
Un-willing willing, pleasingly abus'd,
So my Simplicity might be excus'd.
Injuries Force is oft-times wondrous pleasing,
To such as suffer Ease in their diseasing,
If what I will, you 'gainst my Will should do,
I with such Force could be well pleased too.

But whilst our Love is young and in the Bud,
Suffer his infant Vigor be withstood.
A Flame new kindled is as easily quench'd,
And sudden Sparkles in little Crops are drench'd.
A Travellers Love is like himself, unstay'd,
And wanders where he walks, it is not laid
On any firmer Ground, for when we alone
Think him to us, the Wind blows fair, he's gone.
Witness Hypsiphile, alike betray'd,
Witness with her the bright Mynoyan Maid.
Nay then your self, as you your self have spoken,
To fair Oenone have your Promise broken.
Since I beheld your Face first, my Desire
Hath been, of Trojan Paris to inquire.
I know you now in every true Respect,
I'll grant you thus much then, say you affect
Me (whom you term your own.) I'll go thus far
Do not the Phrygian Marriners prepare,
Their Sails and Oars, and now whilst we recite,
Exchange of Words about the wished Night?
Say that even now you were prepar'd to clime
My long wish'd Bed, just at th' appointed time,
The Wind should alter and blow fair for Troy,
You must break off, in midst of all your Joy,
And leave me in the Infancy of Pleasure:
Amid my Riches, I shall lose my Treasure.
You will forsake the Sweets my Bed affords,
T' exchange for Cabins, Hatches and pitch'd Boards.
Then what a fickle Courtship you commence,
When, with the first Wind, all your Love blows hence?
But shall I follow you when you are gone,
And be the Grand-child to Laomedon?
And Ilium see whose Beauty you proclaim?
I do not so despise the Bruit of Fame.
That she to whom I am indebt such Thanks,
Should fill the Earth with such adulterate Pranks.

VVhat will Achaia? what will Sparta say?
VVhat will your Troy report, and Asia?
VVhat may old Priam, or his reverent Queen?
VVhat may your Sisters, having Hellen seen?
Or your Dardanian Brothers deem of me?
VVill they not blame my loose Inchastity.
Nay, how can you your self faithful deem me,
And not amongst the losest Dames esteem me?
No Stranger shall your Asian Ports come near,
But he shall fill your guilty Soul with Fear.
How often (angry at some small Offence)
VVill you thus say; Adultress, get thee hence?
Forgetting you your self have been the Chief
In my Transgression, tho' not in my Grief.
Consider what it is, forgetful Lover,
To be Sin's Author, and Sin's sharp Reprover.
But e'er the least of all these Ills betide me,
I wish the Earth may in her Bosom hide me.

But I shall all your Phrygian Wealth possess,
And more, than your Epistle can express.
Gifts, woven Gold, Imbroidery, rich Attire,
Purple and Plate, or what I can desire.
Yet give me Leave, think you all this extends,
To countervail the Loss of my chief Friends?
VVhose Friendship, or whose Aid shall I imploy,
To succour me when I am wrong'd in Troy.
Or whether can I, having thus mis-done,
Unto my Father, or my Brothers run.
As much as you to me, false Jason swore,
Unto Medea, yet from Aeson's Door,
He after did exile her. Now poor Heart,
Where is thy Father that should take thy Part?
Old Aetes or Calciope? thou tookest
No Aid from them, who thou before forsookest.

Or say thou didst (alas! they cannot hear,
Thy sad Complaints) yet I no such thing fear.
No more Medea did, good Hopes ingage
Themselves so far, they fail in their Presage.
You see the Ships, that in the Main are tost,
And many times by Tempests wrackt and lost,
Had at their lanching from the Haven's Mouth,
A smooth Sea, and a calm Gale from the South.
Besides, the Brand your Mother dreamt she bare,
The Night before your Birth, breeds me fresh Care.
It prophecy'd, e'er many Years expire;
Inflamed Troy must burn with Greekish Fire.
As Venus favours you, because she gain'd,
A doubtful Prize by you; yet the disdain'd
And vanquish'd Goddess, disgrac'd so late,
May bear you hard; I therefore fear their Hate.
Nor make no Question, but if I consort you,
And for a Ravisher, our Greece report you;
War will be wag'd with Troy, and you shall rue,
The Sword (alas) your Conquest shall pursue.
When Hypodamia at her bridal Feast,
Was rudely ravished by her Centaur Guest;
Because the Salvages the Bride durst seize,
War grew betwixt them and the Lapythes.
Or think you Menelaus hath no Spleen?
Or that he hath not Power to avenge his Teen?
Or that old Tyndarus this Wrong can smother?
Or the two famous Twins, each lov'd of other.

So where your Valour and rare Deeds you boast,
And warlike Spirits in which you triumph most;
By which you have attain'd 'mong'st Souldiers Grace,
None will believe you, that but sees your Face.
Your Feature, and fair Shape, is fitter far
For amorous Courtships, than remorsless War.

Let rough hew'd Soldiers warlike Dangers prove,
'Tis pity Paris should do ought save Love.
Hector (whom you so praise) for you may fight,
I'll find you War to skirmish every Night,
Which shall become you better. Were I wise,
And bold withal, I might obtain the Prize;
In such sweet single Combats, Hand to Hand,
'Gainst which no Woman that is wise will stand.
My Champion I'll encounter Breast to Breast,
Though I were sure to fall, and be o'erprest.

If that you private Conference intreat me,
I apprehend you, and you cannot cheat me;
I know the Meaning, durst I yield thereto,
Of what you would conferr; what you would do.
You are too forward, you too far would wade;
But yet (God knows) your Harvest's in the Blade.
My tired Pen shall here in Labour end,
A guilty Sense in thievish Lines I send.
Speak next when your Occasion best perswades,
By Clymenea and Aethra my two Maids. Volume 7: Poem XIX
Live with me, and be my Love,
And we will all the Pleasure prove,
That Hills and Vallies, Dale and Field,
And all the craggy Mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the Rocks,
And see the Shepherds feed their Flocks.
By shallow Rivers, by whose Falls
Melodious Birds sing Madrigales.

There will I make thee Beds of Roses,
With a thousand fragrant Poses;
A Cap of Flowers, and a Girdle
Imbroidered all with leaves of Mirtle.
A Gown made of the finest Wooll,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull,
Fair lined Slippers for the cold,
With Buckles of the purest Gold.
A Belt of straw and Ivie Buds,
With coral Claspes and amber Studs,
And if these Pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
The Shepherds Swains shall Dance and Sing,
For thy Delight each May Morning;
If these Delights thy Mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
If that the World and Love were young,
And Truth in every Shepherds Tongue,
These pretty Pleasures might me move,
To live with thee and be thy Love.
Time drives the Flocks from Field to Fold,
When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh Dumb,
The rest complains of Cares to come.
The Flowers do fade, and wanton Fields,
To wayward Winter reckoning yields,
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancies spring but Sorrows fall.
Thy Gowns, thy Shoes, thy Bed of Roses,
Thy Cap, thy Girdle and thy Posies.

Some break some wither, some forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy Belt of Straw and Ivie Buds,
Thy Coral Claspes and Amber Studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee and be thy Love.
But could Youth last, and Love still breed,
Had Joys no date, and Age no need,
Then these Delights my Mind might move,
To live with thee and be thy Love. Volume 7: Come live with me and be my Dear
Come live with me and be my Dear,
And we will revil all the Year,
In Plains and Groves, on Hills and Dales,
Where fragrant Air breeds sweetest Gales.
There shall you have the beauteous Pine,
The Ceder and the spreading Vine,
And all the Woods to be a Skreen,
Least Phœbus kiss my Summers Queen.
The Seat of your Disport shall be,
Over some River in a Tree.
Where silver Sands and Pebbles sing,
Eternal Ditties with the Spring.
There shall you see the Nymphs at play,
And how the Satyrs spend the Day.
The Fishes gliding on the Sands
Offering their Bellies to your Hands.
The Birds with heavenly tuned Throats,
Possess Woods Ecchoes with sweet Notes,
Which to your Senses will impart,
A Musick to inflame the Heart.

Upon the bare and leafeless Oak,
The Ring-Doves Wooings will provoke
A colder Blood, than you possess,
To play with me and do no less.
In Bowers of Lawrel trimly dight,
We will outwear the silent Night,
While Flora busie is to spread
Her richest Treasure on our Bed.
The Glow-worms shall attend,
And all their sparkling Lights shall spend,
All to adorn and beautifie
Your Lodging with most Majesty.
Then in my Arms will I inclose,
Lillies fair Mixture with the Rose;
Whose nice Perfections in Love's Play,
Shall tune me to the highest Key.
Thus as we pass the welcome Night
In sportful Pleasures and Delight,
The nimble Fairies on the Grounds,
Shall dance and sing melodious Sounds.
If these may serve for to intice,
Your Presence to Love's Paradise,
Then come with me and be my Dear,
And we will strait begin the Year. Volume 7: Poem XXI
Take, O! take those Lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those Eyes the break of Day
Lights which do mislead the Morn.
  But my Kisses bring again,
  Seals of Love, tho' seal'd in vain.
Hide, O! hide those Hills of Snow,
Which thy frozen Bosome bears,

On whose Tops the Pinks, that grow
Are of those, that Aprils wears.
  But my poor Heart first set free,
  Bound in those Icy Chains by thee. Volume 7: The Phoenix and Turtle
Let the Bird of lowest lay
On the sole Arabian Tree,
Herauld sad, and Trumpet be,
To whose Sound, chast Wings obey.
But thou shrieking Harbinger,
Foul Procuror of the Fiend,
Augur of the Feavers End,
To this Troop come thou not near.
From this Session interdict
Every foul of Tyrant Wing,
Save the Eagle feather'd King,
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the Priest in Surplice white,
That defunctive Musick can,
Be the Death-divining Swan,
Least the Requiem lack his Right.
And thou treble dated Crow,
That thy sable Gender mak'st,
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
'Mongst our Mourners shalt thou go.
Here the Anthem doth commence,
Love and Constancy is dead,
Phœnix and the Turtle fled,
In a mutual Flame from hence.
So they loved as Love in twain,
Had the Essence but in one,
Two Distincts but in none,
Number there in Love was slain,
Hearts remote, yet not asunder,

Distance and no Space was seen,
Twixt thy Turtle and his Queen,
'But in them it were a Wonder.
So between them Love did shine,
That the Turtle saw his Right,
Flaming in the Phœnix Sight,
Either was the others mine.
Property was thus apalled,
That the self was not the same,
Single Natures double Name,
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason in itself confounded,
Saw Division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither
Simple were so well compounded.
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one,
Love hath Reason, Reason none,
If what Parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this Threne,
To the Phœnix and the Dove,
Co-supreams and Stars of Love,
As Chorus to their tragick Scene.
Beauty, Truth and Raritie.
Grace in all Simplicity,
Hence inclosed, in Cinders lie.
Death is now the Phœnix Nest,
And the Turtles loyal Breast,
To Eternity doth rest.

Leaving no Posterity
'Twas not their Infirmity,
It was married Chastity.
Truth may seem but cannot be,
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she,
Truth and Beauty buried be.
To this Urn let those repair,
That are either true or fair,
For these dead Birds sigh a Prayer. Volume 7: Why Should this Desart be
Why should this Desart be,
  For it is unpeopled? No,
Tongue I'll hang on every Tree,
  That shall civil Sayings show.
Some how brief the Life of Man
  Runs his erring Pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a Span
  Buckles in his Sum of Age.
Some of violated Vows,
  'Twixt the Souls of Friend and Friend,
But upon the fairest Boughs,
  Or at every Sentence end;
Will I Rosalinda write,
  Teaching all that read to know,
The Quintissence of every Sprite,
  Heaven would in little show.
Therefore Heaven Nature chang'd,
  That one Body should be fill'd
With all Graces wide enlarg'd,
  Nature presently distill'd.
Hellen's Cheek, but not her Heart,
  Cleopatra's Majesty:

Atalanta's better Part,
  Sad Lucrecia's Modesty.
Thus Rosalinde of many Parts,
  By heavenly Synods was devis'd,
Of many Faces, Eyes and Hearts,
  To have the Touches dearest pris'd.
Heaven would these Gifts she should have,
  And I to live and die her Slave.

REMARKS ON THE PLAYS OF SHAKESPEAR.

I have in my Essay prefixt to this Volume, laid down Rules, by which the Reader may judge of the Mistakes of our Poet so far, as by his Authority not to be drawn into an Imitation of his Errors, by mistaking them for Beauties. I shall now in these Remarks point out the Beauties of this Author, which are worthy the Observation of all the Ingenious Lovers of this Art, and those who desire to arrive at any Perfection in it.

Mr. Rowe has very well observ'd, that the Fable is not the Province of the Dramma, in which the Strength and Mastery of Shakespear lies; yet I shall give a Scheme of all his Plots, that so we may the more easily see how far he has succeeded by the Force of Nature, and where he has fail'd. I begin in the Order in which they are printed in this new Edition. And in the First we find his Tempest.

I must here let the Reader know, that because in going through Shakespear, the same Topics will occur in several Places, I shall put my References to the Latin Poets on those Topics to the alphabetical Table of them, which will be at the End of this Volume.

Speed—First, you have learned, by Sr. Protheus to wreath your Arms like a Malecontent; to relish a Love Song like a Robin-red-breast; to walk alone like one that had the Pastilence; to sigh like a School-boy, that had lost his A. B. C. to weep like a young Wench, that had lost her Grandam; to fast like one that takes Diet; to watch like one, that fears robbing; to speak puling like a Beggar at Hollow-Mass. You were wont when you laught to crow like a Cock; when you walk'd to walk like one of the Lions; when you fasted 'twas presently after Dinner; when you look'd sadly it was for Want of Money. And now you are so metamorphosed with a Mistress, that when I look on you I can hardly think you my Master.

You must observe, that this is the Speech of a pert Page to his Love-sick Master, and that will attone for some of the Smiles, while the Humour is pleasant.

Unless I look on Silvia in the Day
There is no Day for me to look upon.
She is my Essence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair Influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. p. 96.

This is extremely pathetique, as indeed all the following Scene is betwixt him and his false Friend Sir Protheus.

Sir Protheus Advice to Sr. Thurio in the managing his Addresses to Silvia is pretty and sprightly, see p. 103. I can't omit the Words of Julia expressing her Condition when slighted by her Lover p. 114.

The fifth Act of this Play is much the best, but Valentine is too easily reconciled to a Man, whose Treachery and Villany deserv'd the Stab especially when it is discovered at the very Time, that he goes to ravish his Friend's Betrohed.

Fords, is an excellent Character of a Politic, cautious, jealous Coxcomb; and all his Endeavours

at the cautious and cunning Management of the Discovery of his Doubts and Fears, involves him the more, and makes him the more ridiculous; for the Conferences he has with Sir John, confirm him in his Suspicions, and his Disappointments expose his Folly.

The Fairys in the fifth Act makes a Handsome Complement to the Qneen, in her Palace of Windsor, who had oblig'd him to write a Play of Sir John Falstaff in Love, and which I am very well assured he perform'd in a Fortnight; a prodigious Thing, when all is so well contriv'd, and carry'd on without the least Confusion.

Angelo's last Speech of the second Scene of the second Act, is very beautiful in the Agitations of Angelo's Soul on his falling in Love with Isabella the Simile very fine which only I shall transcribe.

The rest of the Speech is well worth noting, nor is Angelo's Speech in the fourth Scene of the same Act less agreeable, or the following Simile in it less beautiful—

I cannot omit the charmin Simile in the same Scene.

Lye hid more thousand Deaths. Yet Death we fear
That makes these Odds all Even.

It were to be wish'd, that the Pulpit cou'd declaim in this pathetick Manner, we might perhaps have fewer Hypocrites and Usurers.

Run with these false, and most contrarious Quests
Upon thy Doings. Thousand Escapes of Wit.
Make thee the Father of an idle Dream,
And rack thee in their Fancies &lblank;

The Plot of this Play is taken from Cynthio Giraldi, Dec. 8. Nov. 5. you may also look into Lipsii Monita, p. 125. Histoires admirables de Nostre Temps, p. 216.

The Scene lies at Messina in Sicily and in and near the House of Leonato. Don Pedro of Aragon with his Favourite Claudio, and Benedict a gay young Cavalier of Padua, and Don John the Bastard Brother of Don Pedro come to Leonato's the Governour of Messina. Claudio is in Love with Hero Leonato's Daughter, whom Don Pedro obtains for him, and while they wait the Wedding Day, they consult how to make Benedict and Beatrice the Neice of Leonato in Love with each other, both being Gay and Easy and averse to Love, and like great Talkers railing always at each other. However by letting them over-hear their Discourse they persuade them, that they are in Love with each other. In the mean time Don John the very Soul of Envy and Mischief contrives how to break the Match betwixt Claudio and Hero, and to this purpose, by his Engines Conrade and Borachio they make Claudio and the Prince believe that Hero is a Wanton, and put a plausible Cheat on them to confirm the Suspicion, by having Borachio Talk to Hero's Maid Margaret at the Chamber Window at Mid-night, as if she were Hero. Convinc'd by this Falacy Claudio and Don Pedro Disgrace her in the Church where he went to Marry her, rejecting her, and accusing her of Wantonness with another. Hero Swoons away, and the Priest interposing and joining in the Attestation she makes of her Virtue, she is privately convey'd away and reported Dead. The Rogue Borachio being taken by the Watch, as he was telling the Adventure to his Comrade, discovers the Villany and clears Hero; but Don John is fled. Her Innocence being known; her Father

is satisfy'd with Claudio, that he hang Verses on her Tomb that Night, and Marry a Neice of his the next Morning without seeing her Face which he agrees to and performs, and then it is discover'd, that it is Hero, whom he Marry'd and so the Play Ends, with an Account of Don John's being taken,

This Fable is as full of Absurdities, as the Writing is full of Beauties, the first I leave to the Reader to find out by the Rules I have laid down, the second, I shall endeavour to shew, and point out some few of the many, that are contain'd in the Play. Shakespear indeed had the Misfortune which other of our Poets have since had of laying his Scene in a Warm Climate where the Manners of the People are very different from ours, and yet he has made them talk and act generally like Men of a colder Country, Marriage Alamode has the same Fault.

This Play we must call a Comedy, tho' some of the Incidents and Discourses too are more in a Tragic Strain; and that of the Accusation of Hero is too shocking for either Tragedy or Comedy; nor cou'd it have come off in Nature, if we regard the Country without the Death of more, than Hero. The Imposition on the Prince and Claudio seems very lame, and Claudio's Conduct to the Woman, he lov'd, highly contrary to the very Nature of Love, to expose her in so barbarous a Manner and with so little Concern, and struggle, and on such weak Grounds without a farther Examination into the Matter, yet the Passions this produces in the old Father make a wonderful amends for the Fault. Besides which there is such a pleasing Variety of Characters in the Play, and those perfectly maintain'd, as well as distinguish'd,

that you lose the Absurdities of the Conduct in the Excellence of the Manners, Sentiments, Diction and Topics. Benedict, and Beatrice are two sprightly, witty, talkative Characters, and, tho' of the same Nature, yet perfectly distinguish'd, and you have no need to read the Names, to know who speaks. As they differ from each other, tho' so near a Kin, so do they from that of Lucio in Measure for Measure, who is likewise a very talkative Person; but there is a gross Abusiveness, Calumny Lying, and Lewdness in Lucio, which Benedict is free from. One is a Rake's Mirth and Tattle; the other that of a Gentleman, and a Man of Spirit and Wit.

The Stratagem of the Prince on Benedict, and Beatrice is manag'd with that Nicity and Address, that we are very well pleas'd with the Success, and think it very resonable and just.

The Character of Don John the Bastard is admirably distinguish'd, his Manners are well mark'd, and every where convenient, or agreeable. Being a sour melancholly, saturnine, envious, selfish, malicious Temper, Manners Necessary to produce these villanous Events, they did; these were productive of the Catastrophe, for he was not a Person brought in to fill up the Number only, because without him the Fable could not have gone on.

To quote all the comic Excellencies of this Play would be to transcribe three Parts of it. For all that passes betwixt Benedict and Beatrice is admirable. His Discourse against Love and Marriage in the later End of the second Act, p. 343. is very pleasant and witty, and that which Beatrice says of Wooing, Wedding and repenting, p. 334. And the Aversion that the Poet gives Benedict and Beatrix for each other in their Discourse, heightens

the Jest of making them in Love with one another. Nay the Variety and natural Distinction of the vulgar Humours of this Play are remarkable.

The Scenes of this Play are something obscure, for you can scarce tell where the Place is in the two first Acts, tho' the Scenes in them seem pretty entire, and unbroken. But those are things we ought not to look much for in Shakespear. But whilst he is out in the dramatic Imitation of the Fable, he always draws Men and Women so perfectly, that when we read, we can scarce perswade our selves, but that the Discourse is real and no Fiction.

As thus for thus, and a such a Grief for such,
In every Lineament Branch, Shape and Form;
If such a one will smile, and stroak his Beard,
And Holla! wagg, cry hem! when he shou'd groan;
Patch Grief with Proverbs; make Misfortune drunk
With Candle-Wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather Patience.
But there is no such Man. For Brother, Men
Can counsel and give Comfort to that Grief,
Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it
Their Counsel turns to Passion, which before
Wou'd give preceptial Medicine to Rage;
Fetter strong Madness in a silken Thread;
Charm Ach with Air, and Agony with Words.
No, no, 'tis all Mens Office to speak Patience
To those, that wring under the Load of Sorrow;
But no Man has Vertue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no Counsel—
My Griefs cry louder, than Advertisement.

I have given more, than the bare Topic, because the Speech is Pathetique, and extremely Natural Nor can I omit another Speech, tho' it contain. neither Topic nor Description and that is p. 367.

Ability in Means and Choice of Friends
To quit me of them thoroughly.

Of this I shall speak in my Remarks on his Verses, where he has more than once made. Use of the same Figure. For the Plot of this Play consult Ariosto's Oralando furioso. Book v. and Spencer's Fairy Queen, Book ii.

There is a pretty Account of Love p. 432. beginning

And on Womens Eyes there are some pretty Reflections, p. 433. beginning thus,

And Pag. 460. is a good Reflection on a satyric biting Wit.

The Simile of Lightning is a perfect Hypotiposis and the Epiphonema in the last Line concludes the Topic beautifully.

Nor has Love's Mind of any Judgment Taste;
Wings and no Eyes figure unheedy Haste.
And therefore is Love said to be a Child
Because in Choice he often is beguil'd.
As waggish Boys themselves in Game forswear
So the Boy Love is perjur'd every where.

Whether these Reflections are not too just for one in Helena's Condition to make, I leave to the Judicious, but as they are here divested of all Persons they are admirable.

And Puck makes a Description of the Night p. 520. which the Reader may add to this.

And gives an airy nothing a local Habitation,
And a Name.

All his Fairies, Goblins, and the like are of this Kind, which he describes here.

The Fairy Queen was taken from this Play; but whence Shakespear took the Hint of it I know not, but believe it to be his own Invention.

And yet for ought I see they are as sick, that surfeit on too much, as they that starve with nothing; therefore it is no small Happiness to be seated in the Mean; Superfluity comes sooner to white Hairs, but Competency lives longer.

If to do were as easie, as to know what were good to do, Chappels had been Churches, and poor Mens Cottages Princes Palaces. 'Tis a a good Divine, that follows his own Instructions. I can easier teach twenty what is good to be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching. The Brain may devise Laws for the Blood; but a hot Temper leaps o'er a cold Decree. Such a Hare is Madness the Youth, to Skip over the Meshes of good Counsel the Cripple.

That we are more eager in the Pursuit of what we have not; than the Preservation of what we have possess'd, see p. 547. Oh! ten times faster Venus Pidgeons flie. &c. In Portia's Speech p. 560. when Bassanio is going to make his Choice, there are several beautiful Similes.

Against Appearance p. 564. for near forty Lines together. He is generally excellent in his Choice of Epithets of a strong, proper, and natural Signification, and such as denote the Quality of the thing wonderfully, as here—

Por.
How all the other Passions fleet to Air!
As, doubtful Thoughts, and rash embrac'd Despair,
And shuddring Fear, and green-ey'd Jealousy, &c.

Bassanio's Description of Portia's Picture when he chooses the Leaden Casket is very fine, p. 562. There are likewise in that or the next Page two fine Similes, the first he begins thus— Like one of two contending in a Prize, And the other in the next Page thus—As after some Oration fairly spoke, &c. An Affectation in Words, see p. 572. beginning thus—O! dear Discretion, how his Words are suted, &c.

Read likewise the last nine Verses of this Page. The Expression is very fine in this on the Moonshine Night,—This Night methinks is but the Day-light sick, &c.

Frederick the Duke of some part of France is Depos'd, and Banish'd by his younger Brother, and retir'd to the Forrest of Arden; many People of Fashion following him thither out of Love to him and Hatred of the Usurper; who retains Rosalinda his Brother's Daughter to gratify his own Daughter Cælia, who Doated on her with a very peculiar Love and Affection. But being afterwards Jealous of her Popularity banishes her likewise. But his own Daughter flies with her, Rosalinda being in Mens Cloaths under the Name of Ganymede, and Celia in Womans under the Name of Aliena. Hither likewise comes Orlando the youngest Son of Sir Rowland Du-Bois, fled from his elder Brother's Cruelty and the Usurper's Hate. He wrestling before the Duke kills his Wrestler Charles, and wounds the Heart of Rosalinda as she did his. But meeting in the Forest he makes Love to her as Rosalinda, tho' in appearance a Lad, which Habit betray'd Phabe, a Shepherdess to fall likewise in Love with her as a Man, whom she uses scurvily to make her pity Silvins the Swain, that is in Love with her. Orlando's Brother Oliver being forc'd io flie from the Rage of the Usurper, because his Brother had made his Escape, is deliver'd from a Lioness by the Valour of Orlando whose Life he had before so basely sought, but being thus reconcil'd falls in Love with Cælia and she with him, so the Marriage being resolv'd on Rosalinda or rather then Ganymede promises Orlando that he shall have his true Rosalinda the next Day, and Phæbe, that she will have her, on condition that if she refuse him she shall marry Silvius. Having

perform'd all this, and the banish'd Duke having given her to Orlando, Jaques Orlandos and Oliver's Brother brings News that the Usurper coming with Forces against them, was on the Way converted and gone into a Monastry leaving the Dukedom again to his Brother.

This Story has nothing Dramatic in it, yet Shakespear has made as good use of it as possible.

The Scene betwixt Orlando and his Brother Oliver in the opening of the Play is well manag'd discovering something, that goes before in the Quarrel between them; and Oliver's Management of the provoking Charles the Wrestler against Orlando is artful and natural.

I will not say that Shakespear took the following Thought from this, but it is plainly the same. Orlando says to Jaques's—I pray thee mar no more of my Verses by reading them ill favour'dly. p. 633. The old Dukes Speech preferring that Solitude to the World is full of moral Reflections. p. 612. Now my Co-mates, and Brothers in Exile, &c. The third Scene of the second Act betwixt Orlando and Adam moving by the Gratitude of the old Servant. p. 614, 615, 616. and page 625. is that fine Speech of Jaques taken notice of by Mr. Rowe in Shakespear's Life. That Pleasantry of the different Motion of Time. p. 634. is worth remarking. And Rosalinda's Character of a Man in Love. 636. is very pretty.

I have neither the Scholars Melancholy, which is Emulation; nor the Musicians, which is Fantastical; nor the Courtiers, which is Proud: nor the Soldiers, which is Ambitious: nor the Lawyers which is Political: nor the Ladies, which is Nice: nor the Lovers, which is all these, &c. p. 645.

No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was begot of Thought, conceiv'd of Spleen, and born of Madness, that blind rascally Boy, that abuses every ones Eyes, because his own are out—&c. p. 650. and 659. is shown what it is to be in Love,—Good Shepherd (says Phæbe) tell this Youth what 'tis to Love, &c. see p. 659, and 660.

If any Man doubt that let him put me to the Purgation,—I have trod a Measure; I have flater'd a Lady; I have been Politic with my Friend, Smooth with my Enemy; I have undone three Taylors; I have had four Quarrels, and had like to have fought one.

Catharines Harangue to her Sister and the Widow on the Duty of Wives to their Husbands, if the Ladies wou'd read it with a little Regard, might be of mighty use in this Age. p. 738.

The Story of the Tinker by which this Comedy is introduc'd, may be found in Goulart's Histoires Admirables: And Pontus Heuterus Rerum Burdicarum. The Comedy it self is his own Invention, as far as we can discover, and so good, that tho' it has been alter'd by Mr. Lacy, yet I do not think it much improv'd; that Comedian committed an odd Blunder in laying the Scene in England, and adding Sawny the Scot, and yet retaining all the other Names that were purely Italian. The additional Tryal of Skill on their Return to her Father is well contriv'd.

The Web of our Life is of mingled Yarn, good and ill together; our Virtues wou'd be proud if our Faults whipt them not, and our Crimes wou'd despair if they were not cherish'd by our Virtues. p. 796.

The Plot of this Play is taken from Boccace's Novels. Day. 3. Nov. 9.

What the Duke says in the next page is very fine and the naural Effect of Love and Desire. The Thought is extreamly Pathetic.

Has kill'd the Flock of all Affections else,
That live in her! when Liver, Brain, and Heart
These Soveraign Thrones are all supply'd, and fill'd
Her Sweet Perfections by one self-fame thing? 822.

The Captain's Description of Sebastian's coming ashoar is fine and if compar'd with that before of Ferdinand's Escape describ'd in the Tempest wou'd show the Fertility of the Author in his Variety on the same Subject. p. 823.—I know your Brother, most provident in Peril, &c. there are several fine Lines, and Thoughts in the Scene betwixt Olivia and Viola. p. 834, 835, and 836. Nor must we omit the Dukes Advice to Viola, that a Man shou'd marry one younger than himself. p. 844, 845.

Olivia's Declaration of Love to Viola is very fine and pathetick Cæsario, by the Roses of the Spring, &c. p. 856. There is in the Likeness of the Brother and Sister a Hint taken from the Menæchimi and Amphitryo of Plautus, as well as the Comedy of Errors.

I Come now to the historical Plays of Shakespear which with Submission to the Writer of his Life cannot be placed under Tragedy, because they contain no Tragic Imitation, they are Draughts of the Lives of Princes brought into Dialogue. and in Regard of their Mixture of serious and comical Characters may be compared to the Greek Pieces, that were wrote before Æschylus and Sophocles had reformed the Stage of Athens. Or the rambling unartful Pieces first represented in Rome after the calling in of the Etrurian Players, nay after the Time of Livius Andronicus. In their Extent they may be compar'd to the Theseids, the Heracleids, written by some Greek Poets, and reflected on by Aristotle in his Art of Poetry for imagining, that the Unity of the Hero made the Unity of the Action.

These Instances from this polite Nation will be a very good Plea for this Error of Shakespear, who liv'd when the Stage was not regarded by the State as it was in Athens. For had a Reformation then begun, he wou'd doubtless have done as Mr. Corneilla did upon the studying the Art of the Stage, by which the Plays which he wrote afterwards

wards excell'd those, he wrote without any Knowledge of that Art.

I shall only add here, that since these Plays are Histories, there can be no Manner of Fable or Design in them. I shall not therefore give the Plot but refer the Reader to those Historians where he may find the Stories at large, and by them judge how near Shakespear has kept to the Character, History has given us of them. He begins with King John, whose History you will find not only in the common English Chronicles, but also in Mr. Daniel; in Mr. Tyrel, Mr. Echard; especially in Mr. Tyrel in all its Extent and Particularities. But it must be remark'd, that he begins not the History with the Birth of King John, or the Manner of his obtaining the Crown, but of the Breach betwixt him and France on the Behalf of Arthur the Son of Geffry Plantaginet the true Heir.

I had some Thoughts of placing an Abstract of the Reigns of the Kings before each of his history Plays, but considering farther I found, that to make of it any Use, they wou'd take up much more Room, than I cou'd by any Means allow; and the Princes being all English, I find it might seem a little superfluous; since that is what every Gentleman that is capable of reading this Poet is very well acquainted with.

As for the Characters of this History, I think there are none of any Figure but the Bastard and Constance; they indeed engage your Attention when ever they enter. There is Boldness, Courage, self-Assurance, Haughtiness and Fidelity, in what ever he says or does. But here is the Misfortune of all the Characters of Plays of this Nature, that they are directed to no End, and therefore are of little Use, for the Manners cannot

be necessary, and by Consequence must lose more, than half their Beauty. The Violence, Grief, Rage, and Motherly Love and Despair of Constance produce not one Incident, and are of no Manner of Use, whereas if there had been a just Design, a tragic Imitation of some one grave Action of just Extent, both these Characters being form'd by the Poet, must have had their Manners directed to that certain End, and the production of these Incidents, which must beget that End.

There are too many good Lines in this Play for me to take Notice or point to them all.

The Description which Chastillion makes of the English Army, that comes with King John, is very good and a handsome Complement of a Patriot to his Country. You will find it 988 beginning thus—His Marches are expedient to this Town, &c.—But I must not omit King John's first Speech to the French King, since it was so lately and so happily apply'd to the present Lewis on the breaking off the Treaty of the Hague.

Westmorland's Speech to the Arch-Bishop of York and the Rebels on Rebellion is very good— If that Rebellion came like it self, &c. p. 1254. Falstaff's Defence of drinking is pleasant, p. 1265. King Henry's Advice to Clarence is worth observing. pag. 1266, &c.

On Fortune, p. 1268.
Will Fortune never come with both Hands full?
But write her Fair Words still in foulest Letters. &c.

On a Crown p. 1270.
Oh! polish'd perturbation! golden Care!
Then keepst the Ports of slumber open wide, &c.

The Scene betwixt King Henry and his Son the Prince from p. 1271. To the End of the fourth Act is worthy reading: As is the Chief Justices Speech. p. 1280.

For these two Plays consult the same English Histories, which are already quoted.

Of Ceremony. p. 1345.
And what art thou Idol Ceremony. &c.

See Grandprees Description of the low Condition of the English Army, p. 1347, and 8.

What I have already said of Shakespear's being sensible of the Defect of these Historical Representations is confirm'd plainly in the Chorus of the fifth Act. p. 1363.

He shows how sensible he is of this in the short Chorus that Ends this Play, saying,

And indeed all that can be done in these Cases, is only a Collection of so many Themes of different Subjects. As in Burgundy's Speech p. 1367. The Description of Peace and its Advantages.

The Character of Fluellen is extreamly comical, and yet so very happily touch'd, that at the same time when he makes us laugh he makes us value his Character. The Scene of Love betwixt Henry V. and Catharine is extravagantly silly and unnatural; for why he shou'd not allow her to speak in English as well as all the other French I cannot imagine since it adds no Beauty but gives a patch'd and pye-bald Dialogue of no Beauty or Force.

The Scene betwixt Talbot and the Countess of Auvergne contains something pretty enough p. 1399 &c. In the Bishop of Winchester he has perfectly drawn a haughty proud Church Man, that prefers his own Ambition to all things Divine and Humane. And in the King a weak tho' pious Prince; and indeed all the Parts shew the Confusion of a Government under such a Prince. The Speech of the Pucelle to the Duke of Burgundy is very fine and Artful. Talbot's Persuasion of his Son to leave the Field, and secure in himself the Hopes of the Family, and his Refusal to leave his Father is very pathetic p. 1430. The Scene between Suffolk, and Queen Margaret is full of natural Passion, and contains many fine Lines p. 1501. 2, 3, and 4. The Praise of England in the Lord Says Speech to Jack Cade is good, p. 1518.

The frequent and calm Debates in Council, in many of these Historical Pieces have nothing Dramatic in them, as in the first Part of Hen. vi.

The long Soliloquy of Richard from p 1578 to 1580. is highly unnatural; for as the Duke of Buckingham justly has observ'd they ought to be few, and short. Nor wou'd this, which is so frequent in our Poet be born from the best Hand, that cou'd now arise; but there is always by the Many biggotted Deference paid to our Predessors; and Years add Authority to a Name. Our young Poets,

shou'd never imitate our Shakespear in this; for tho' a Man may be suppos'd to speak a few Words to himself in the Vehemence of a Passion, as it do's happen in Nature, of which the Drama is in all its Parts an Imitation; yet to have near fourscore Lines of calm Reflections, nay Narrations to my self, by which the Hearer shou'd discover my Thoughts and my Person, as here, and before when Henry VI. is discover'd and taken, is unpardonable, because against Nature, and by Consequence not at all according to Art. There are several good Lines in this Speech of Richard but ill brought in. The Instances which Shakespear makes him give of Nestor, Ulysses, and Sinon are a Proof still of his Knowledge at least in Ovid, and some other of the Latin Classics, the ill Omens given by Henry VI. of Richard's Death are Poetical enough p. 1614.

2 Vil. I will not meddle with it it makes a Man a Coward, &c. p. 1693. Edward's Speech p. 1650 is pathetick enough. And the Queen's Passion on King Edward's Death is just and natural. p. 1652. 3. &c.

Buckingham's Account of his Negotiating with the Citizens is well enough, p. 1674. 5.

The Prologue to Hen. VIII. shows that Shakespear thought more justly of the Stage, than he perform'd; perhaps in meer Compliance with what then pleas'd the Audience never considering, that his Authority wou'd have refin'd their Tastes. After having told us, that this Play wou'd move Pity, contain'd Truth, and was not destitute of Show; he goes on.

The two different Characters of Wolsey by Queen Catharine and Griffith are worth perusing. 1785.

This concludes the English Historical plays tho' the rest are indeed little better, yet they generally are within a narrower Compass of Time, and take in fewer Actions. Tho' when they exceed the Unities I see no Reason why they may not as well, and with as good Reason stretch the Time to 5000 Years, and the Actions to all the Nation's and People of the Universe and as there has been a Puppet Show of the Creation of the World, so there may be a Play call'd the History of the World.

Remarks upon his Tragedies.

Troy having been long besieg'd, Achilles is by Polyxena kept from the Field, for he was in Love with her. Anthenor is taken Prisoner, and in Exchange for him Cressida Daughter to Colchas is given to Diomede by the Trojans. Troilus, that is in Love with her, and first possess'd of her by the Care of Pandarus her Uncle parts with her not without the utmost Reluctance having vow'd Constancy to each other. Hector being to fight Ajax during the Truce Troilus goes with him, and after

the Fight gets Ulysses to go privately with him to the Tent of Calchas, where he discovers her Falshood to him and Love to Diomede. The Truce Ending, the Battle is renew'd, and Patroclus being kill'd Achilles comes out and kills Hector, and Troilus and Diomede both fighting after in vain, the play Ends with the Death of Hector by Achilles and his Myrmidons.

This Play is alter'd by Mr. Dryden and, tho' clear'd of some Errors, is far from a Play even according to the Rules laid down by Mr. Dryden before this very Play, as he indeed Confesses; but to alter a play and leave the fundamental Error's of Plot and Manners is a very Whimsical undertaking. Shakespear is to be Excus'd in his falsifying the Character of Achilles, making him and Ajax perfect Idiots, tho' sometimes Achilles talks like a nice Reasoner, as with Ulysses p. 1861. so making the Manners unequal as well as unlike; I say Shakespear is excusable in this because he follow'd Lollius, or rather Chaucers Translation of him. But Mr Dryden who had Homer to guide him right in this particular, is unpardonable. Thus Achilles is made to absent himself from the Field for the sake of Polyxena whereas the receiv'd Story is, that it was upon the Quarrel betwixt Agamemnon and him for taking away Briseis. But I know not on what Account both the Poets seem fonder of the Barbarians, than the Greeks, Arbitrary Power, than Liberty, Ignorance than Learning. I know not but it may be that the Reason that gave Virgil the Trojan for his Hero, is that which has made our Bards so indulgent to the same Side, viz, a Notion, that the Trojans were the Source of our two Nations, tho' with much less Reason and probability on our side, than in that of the Romans.

I wonder Mr. Dryden continued the Error of Shakespear in making Cressida a Whore. Her Character is too scandalous to draw our Pity; and therefore he shou'd have made her virtuous, and not of blasted Honour. Yet it must be acknowledg'd, that Mr. Dryden has corrected the Diction, and added a considerable Beauty in that Scene, betwixt Hector and Troilus upon the Surrender of Cressida, with whom he seems to part in the Original with too small Reluctance. Mr. Dryden himself tells us, that he took the Hint of that Scene from that in Euripides between Agamemnon and Menelaus, which I shall give the Reader in my Remarks on Julius Cæsar, that he may compare it with that of Shakespear, and this of Mr. Dryden, from whom I must a little dissent in the Occasion; for the Ground of the Quarrel in the Greek is stronger, than either Mr Dryden's or Shakespear's. For the Glory and Honour of Greece depends on that of Euripides, but I can't find the Liberty of Rome much interested on that of Brutus and Cassius. But more of this when I come to that Play.

I am something of Mr. Dryden's Mind, that this was one of his earliest Plays, both for the Manners and Diction, which are both more faulty than usually in any of his later Tragedies. There are, notwithstanding what I have said, a great many fine Lines in this Peice worth the Remarking as the very first Lines. Call here my Varlet, I'll unmar again.

The several Pauses, &c. in the following Lines.

That Women are best when they are courted and not won. see p. 1823. The Effect of Grumblers, or Contemners of the supream Rule or Governour. p. 1826. 7. Two short but passionate Speeches of Troilus p. 1853, and 54. The first begins O! Pandarus I stalk about her Door, &c. the second—Even such a Passion doth embrace my Bosom, &c.

The Discovery of her Departure to her by Troilus is as finely express'd, I love thee with so strange a Purity, &c. p. 1875 The Cautions he gives her against the Grecian Youth are not amiss.

The Grecian Youths are full of subtle Qualities, &c. Ulysses gives a very good Description of a lacivious Woman. p. 1878.

And his Character of Troilus p. 1879. is not less lively and beautiful.—Not yet mature yet matchless, &c.

He that depends upon your Favours, Swims with Fins of Lead, &c. p. 1912. you may look in the beginning of this Speech in the foregoing Page. The noble Spirit of Volumnia is well express'd in her Speech, p. 1916. and in all that Scene to p. 1919 where the Character is admirably distinguish'd

from Virgilia and Valeria. The Speech of Coriolanus to the Soldiers. p. 1924 is good.

The Discourse betwixt the two Officers in the Capitol. p. 1937. is worth reading on the Head of Popularity.

Custom calls me to it, &c. p. 1944.

In the Scene betwixt the Tribunes and Martius p. 1950, 51, 52. The haughty Pride, and insolent and virulent Temper of Coriolanus is justly painted

Menenius is drawn an old humorous Senator, and indeed he talks like one. p. 1956 in Defence of the Pride and Outrage of his Friend. And the next page, when he asks what he has done against Rome, &c. when it is plain he was against the Rights of the Commons, as essential to the Government as the Nobles, perhaps more if that State be thoroughly consider'd. Volumnias Speech to her Son p. 1960. is not amiss. And that of Coriolanus p. 1961. and 2. is well Express'd—Away my Disposition and possess me some Harlots Spirit, &c. the Thoughts are not only pretty but very natural to his Pride on this Occasion.

For the Life and Character of this Man you may read Plutarchs, Lives, and Dyon: Hallicarn.

To point to particular Lines wou'd be endless —as this p. 2084. When the devout Religion of my Eye, &c. for there often comes a fine sounding Verse well express'd in the mid'st of others of little or no Beauty. Mercutio's Harangue on Dreams, p. 2088. is extreamly pleasant, and whimsical, the later End very good Satire.

What Romeo says on his first seeing Juliet is very pretty, p. 2090.

Whether Passion be so pregnant of Similes as Romeo and Juliet every where give us, I dare not determine, since to say that all they speak is not natural, wou'd be to provoke too many, that admire it as the Soul of Love.

Mercutio's conjuring for Romeo, p. 2094. is pleasant, tho' it ends a little too smutty for an Audience. It begins Romeo, Humour, Passion, Madman, Lover, &c. The Scene betwixt Romeo and Juliet when he is in the Garden, and she at her Window, tho' it contain many things, that will not join with Probability, and tho' perhaps Shakespear like Cowly was a little corrupted by reading Petrarch, that modern Debaucher of Poetry into Conceits, and Conundrums; yet the Fancy is is every where so fine, and Nature so agreeably painted, that we are pleas'd with the very Fucus, and perswade our selves that it is pure unsophisticated Nature, from p. 2095, to p. 2100. And on the Earth and its Products the Fryar speaks well. ibid. and p. 2101. And what he says to Romeo on early Rising is pretty enough. ibid. The Soliloquy of Juliet, p. 2108. contains several good Lines, as— Love's Heralds shou'd be Thoughts, which ten-times faster glide, &c.

There are likewise a great many fine Lines in Juliet's Soliloquy, p. 2116, and 17. but her Thought of cutting him out into little Stars, &c. is ridiculous. The Parting of Romeo and Juliet, p. 2126, &c. is very pretty. The Fryar's Comfort to the Father and Lover in their clamorous Sorrow for the suppos'd Death of Juliet, is not amiss.

Romeo's Description of the poor Apothecary, and his Shop is very good, p. 2145. This Story is taken out of Bandello's Novels.

The trying and Refusal of the Friends is very touching, and too natural and obvious to need a Comment; a Hint of this is in the latter End of Lucian's Dialogue of Timon.

Against Duelling, p. 2192. Your Words have took such Pains as if they labour'd to bring Manslaughter, &c. nor is Alcibiade's Answer much amiss, ibid.

The false Supper Timon invites his false Friends to is all Shakespear's Contrivance. Timon's Curses on Athens in the Beginning of the fourth Act, p. 2197, and 8. is worthy his Rage and Passion. —O! thou Wall, that girdlest in those Wolves, &c. The parting of the Servants something touching, p. 2119. Timon's Speech, p. 2200. tho' disguis'd too much in affected Words contains good satirical Reflections.

The Scene betwixt him, Alcibiades, Timandra, &c. is full of wholesome Satire against Whoring, &c. 2202, and 3, 4, and 5. and the Speech of Timon after they are gone out is very Moral, 2205. The Scene betwixt Timon and Apamantus from 2205, to 2211. contains many fine Reflections and Lines, the whole being very Dramatic.

In short the Scenes betwixt him and his Steward, and the Senators and him are worth Reading. The Epitaph seems to be taken from this,

Caius Julius Cæsar having now vanquish'd all his Enemies, and fixt himself in the perpetual Dictatorship. The Party of Liberty conspir'd to dispatch him; Caius Cassius, Metellus, Cimber, Casca and Brutus agree to Stab him in the Senate House. He is deter'd by Dreams Prodigies, and his Wife Calpurnia's Prayers from going to the Senate that Day being the Ides of March, but Decimus Brutus and the other Conspirators coming to him perswade him from his Superstition, so he goes, and by the way receives a Paper of the Conspirators but will not look at it. In the Senate House Metellus Cimber kneels to begg the Repeal of his Brothers Banishment, which when Cæsar denies they all come in the same Manner, till Casca gives the first Stab when Brutus wounds him he falls with et tu Brute? Anthony being drawn aside by Trebonius flies away on the Noise of Cæsar's Death, but coming to them by Permission, agrees with the Murtherers, and obtains Leave to bury and praise Cæsar in the Market Place or Forum according to custom. Brutus having first given the People an Account of what the Conspirators had done, and justify'd it with Reasons; Anthony makes such an Oration that he sets the People in a Mutiny who burn the Conspirators Houses, &c. Brutus, and Cassius and the Rest of them flie out of Rome. At the Camp at Sardis Cassius meets Brutus, and there happens a Quarrel betwixt them about Brutus's not pardoning Lucus Pella and on Cassius not sending Money to pay the Army. This being over and they Friends and separated the Ghost of Cæsar appears to Brutus and says he'll meet him again as

Philippi. Whether when the Armies are gone Octavius and Mark Anthony, follow fight and beat them: Cassius kills himself on a Mistake, and Brutus on his being close pursu'd.

This Play or History is call'd Julius Cæsar tho' it ought rather to be call'd Marcus Brutus; Cæsar is the shortest and most inconsiderable Part in it, and he is kill'd in the beginning of the third Act. But Brutus is plainly the shining, and darling Character of the Poet; and is to the End of the Play the most considerable Person. If it had been properly call'd Julius Cæsar it ought to have ended at his Death, and then it had been much more regular, natural and beautiful. But then the Moral must naturally have been the Punishment or ill Success of Tyranny.

I know that a noble Man of great Judgment in the Drama, is and has been for some time altering this Play. In which I believe Shakespear will have a better Fate, than in most of those which have been alter'd: For generally they who have undertaken this Province have been careful to leave all the Faults, and to rob him of many of the Beauties; But this has been because few, who have attempted it, knew more of the Art of the Stage, than our Author, and wanted his Genius to relish those things, which were really good. But the principal Character Cæsar, that is left so little touch'd by Shakespear, will merit his Regard; and the Regulation of the Design without Doubt will be Object of his Care and Study; and then there cannot be so much of this remaining, as to rob the Alterer of the Honour of the whole; for the two best things in the Play are after the Death of Cæsar where the Action Ends, viz. the Orations of Brutus and Anthony, and the Quarrel betwixt Brutus

and Cassius. These Orations are indeed the Beginning of a new Action the Death of Brutus and Cassius, and have nothing (in a Dramatic Sense) to do with the Death of Cæsar which is the first Action. But this is a Part of the Drama which our Shakespear is not to be accountable for. We shall therefore proceed to those Beauties of which he is undoubtedly Master. The Manners first, and here I think he is generally wonderful, for there is the Likeness in all, and a perfect Convenience, and Equality.

What Mark Anthony says to the imaginary People of Shakespear's Rome, are so artful, so finely taken from the very Nature of the thing, that I question whether what the real Mark Anthony spoke cou'd be more moving or better calculated to that Effect. Plutarch says nothing of it, but we find that Appian has given us some Fragments, of Anthony's Oration on this Occasion which in Honour of our Shakespear I'll transcribe; for tho' he seems to follow this Author chiefly in his Play yet has he not borrow'd the Oration either of Brutus or Anthony tho' one he form'd there entire, and the other so supply'd that he might easily gather the Connection.

It is not just, Gentlemen, that I alone shou'd undertake the funeral Praises of this great Man; it were fitter his Country did declare them. I will, therefore, with the Voice of the Republick, and not my own, only make Recital of those Honours, which whilst he was living the People of Rome confirm'd upon him for his Virtues.

‘Having said this he began with a sad and sorrowful Countenance the Recital of Cæsar's glorious Titles; pronouncing every thing distinctly; and stopping more particularly at those by which they had made him more than Man; as Sacred, Iaviolable, Father of his Country, Benefactor, Prince and many others, which till then had never been given to any Man. At every Word turning towards the Body, and animating his Speech by his Gesture, and when he pronounc'd any one of those Titles, added some intermingled Terms of Grief and Indignation; as when he recited the Decree of the Senate calling him Father of his Country’—See there, said he, the Testimony of your Acknowledgements—and in pronouncing these Words—Holy, Sacred, Inviolable, and the Refuge of the miserable, he added—never any one, that fled to him for Refuge perish'd; yet he himself is Murder'd, tho' made Holy and Sacred by our Decrees, without having exacted these Titles from us, or ever desir'd them. And surely we are in a shameful Slavery indeed, if we give those Titles to unworthy Persons, who never ask them of us. But Oh! faithful Citizens you purge your selves well from this Reproach by the Honours you now pay his Memory. After this reciting the Act of the Oath, by which they were all oblig'd to Guard the Person of Cæsar, and to employ all their Forces so, that if any attempted his Person, whoever expos'd not his Life in his Defence shou'd be execrable, he rais'd his Voice, and extending his Hands towards the Capitol, cry'd out—Oh! Jupiter! Protector of my Country behold me ready to revenge as I have sworn, and since it is a thing resolv'd by the Judgment of all good Men, I beseech thee with all the other Gods to be favourable to me. A Tumult hereupon arising

among the Senators, who believ'd these Words to be manifestly address'd to them, Anthony to appease them turn'd the Discourse, and said—But Gentlemen, this Accident must rather be attributed to some God, than to Men; and we ought rather to provide against the present Necessities, than speak of things past, since we are threaten'd with extream Miseries for the future, and are upon the Point of falling again into our ancient Seditions, and the seeing all the Nobility of the City perish. Let us then Conduct this sacred Person among the Gods solemnly in mournful Elegies singing his Praise—After having said these Words he tuck'd up his Robe, as if he had been possess'd with some Spirit, and girding it about him, that he might have his Hands more at Liberty he went, and plac'd himself near the Bed where the Corps lay upon an eminent Place, and opening the Curtain, and looking in he began to sing his Praises, as of a Celestial Divinity. And the better to make him be believ'd to be of that Race, he lifted his Hands up to Heaven; reciting even to the Loss of Breath, his Wars, his Combats, his Victories; the Nations he had subdu'd; the Spoils he had brought away speaking of every thing as a Miracle; and crying out many times—Thou alone art he, who hast return'd Victorious from so many Fights: Thou alone art he, who hast reveng'd thy Country of the Injuries done her for three hundred Years together, and constrain'd People till then imdomitable, who alone took and burnt the City to ask Pardon on their Knees. Having said these things and many more, as of a divine Person he lower'd his Voice, and in a mournful Tone with Tears in his Eyes, lamented the unworthy Death of his Friend, wishing that he cou'd redeem his Life with his own, and at length abandoning

himself to Grief he was so far transported as to discover the Body of Cæsar, and to show at the Top of his Pike his Robe pierc'd with the Stabs, he had receiv'd, and all stain'd with his Blood, &c.

I have given all this from Appion, that the Reader may see, as it were the whole Procedure of Anthony on this Occasion, and from this make a Judgment on his Oration; and what Shakespear has made him speak: Which if not so adapted to the Roman People, certainly was very agreeable to them as represented by him in his Play.

The other thing in this Play is the famous Quarrel betwixt Brutus and Cassius in the second Scene of the fourth Act. This has always receiv'd a just Applause, and has by Mr. Dryden in his Preface to Troilus and Cressida been prefer'd to a no less famous Scene of a Quarrel betwixt Agamemnon and Menelaus in the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides. His Words are these—The Occasion of which Shakespear, Euripides, and Fletcher have all taken is the same, Grounded upon Friendship; and the Quarrel of two Vertuous Men rais'd by natural Degrees to the Extremity of Passion, is conducted in all three to the Declination of the same Passion, and concludes with the warm renewing of their Friendships. But the particular ground Work, which Shakespear has taken is incomparably the best; because he has not only chosen two of the greatest Hero's of their Age; but has likewise interested the Liberty of Rome and their own Honours, who were the Redeemers of it, in the Debate.

I hope it will be no Injury to our Countryman to do Justice to an old Greek Poet of the first Magnitude. To that End I must needs say, that the Advantage Mr. Dryden gives to the Briton, is equally due to Euripides, for certainly Agamemnon

and Menelaus, in the Poetic World at least, and in the System of Hero's in the Time Euripides wrote, were as great as Brutus and Cassius, one of whom perhaps cannot carry away the Prize of the greatest Hero of his Age without some Dispute. Next in the Quarrel of Euripides, not the Disappointment of some Pay of Legions, or the Denial of quitting a Man guilty of Bribery, which both were past, but the Fate, the Glory, and the Honour if not the Safety of all Greece depended on the Ground of their Difference.

But whether this of Shakespear be either so well prepar'd, have those fine Turns in it, or come as naturally to its Declination as this of Euripides, I leave to the Judgement of the Reader. But I must desire that some Grains of Allowance may be made the Stranger for the Badness of a Translation, which however good must fall much short of the Beauties of the Original.

To shew the Preparation of this Quarrel I shall give the Argument of the first Act, for Mr. Barnes in his Edition of Euripides had divided his Plays into Acts.

Agamemnon now repenting that he had agreed to the Sacrificing of his Daughter, in the night Time consults with an old faithful Servant of his how to prevent her Arrival in the Camp, where she was hourly expected with her Mother Clytemnestra. To this Servant therefore he entrusts a Letter to be deliver'd to his Wife, in which he desires her not to bring Iphigenia to Aulis. In this Act Agamemnon declares the first Seeds of the Trojan Expedition, and gives an Insight into the present Fables.

The second Act begins with Menelaus intercepting the Messenger, and striving to get the Letter from him.

Old Man.
O! Menelaus! spare your self a Guilt,
Unworthy of your self and of your Fame. Mene.
No, more, no more, thou'rt to thy Lord too faithful. Old M.
Y' upbraid me with a Virtue not a Crime. Mene.
If thou persist thou shalt full soon repent thee. Old M.
They are the King's Dispatches you wou'd seize.
And those you ought not, Sir, to violate. Men.
Thou ought'st not, Wretch, by guilty Faith misled,
To bear Perdition to the Grecian Glory. Old M.
Of that am I no Judge—forgoe my Packet. Men.
I will not. Old M.
Nor will I quit it. Men.
Or let it go, or from my Hand recieve
Immediate Death. Old M.
I count it Glory for my Lord to die. Men.
Villain let go thy Packet—dares a grovling Slave
Contend in saucy Words with mighty Kings. Old M.
My Lord! my Lord! O! Agamemnon hear me!
With violent Hands he robs me of thy Letters. Enter Agamemnon. Agam.
What Noise? what Tumult's this within my Hearing. Old M.
Hear me, great Sir, I will the Truth unfold. Agam.
Why, Menelaus, hast thou thus abus'd
My faithful Servant? Men.
Ha! Agamemnon! Gods! immortal Gods!
Turn, turn thy guilty Eye, and look on me!
If still thou canst behold my injur'd Face.

Agam.
Yes did the deadly Basalisk it self
Ride on thy fiery Balls I thus durst view thee—
The Son of Attreus will by none be Brow beat. Men.
See'st thou these Letters full of base Contents? Agam.
Yes I do see them, and in them thy Crime,
Which I—but give 'em to me strait.— Men.
Not till the Grecian Chiefs have heard them read. Agam.
And have you then—but sure you durst not do't
Thou durst not break thy Soveraigns Letters open. Men.
Yes, yes, I know 'twill vex thy haughty Soul
To have thy secret Treasons thus expos'd. Agam.
O! all ye Gods! what Insolence is this? Men.
From Argos you expect your Daughter here? Aga.
And what have you to do with saucy Eye
To over-look my Actions? Men.
My Will, Sir, is my Right,—I'm not thy Slave. Agam.
'Tis well, Sir, wondrous well, that I Supream
Of Lords and Kings must be depriv'd the Right
To Govern my own Family as I please! Men.
You are not fit t' enjoy that common Right,
Your Mind's unsettled, veering as the Wind.
For, with thy self at War, it now determines
One thing, the following Moment whirls about
And then designs another; nor fix'd in that
Succeeding Minutes vary your Resolves. Agam.
Oh! Spite, spite spite! a spiteful Tongue is odious. Men.
But an inconstant and a various Mind
Is still unjust, and still to Friends unknown.
Your self I will lay open to your self
But let not Pride and Anger make you Deaf,
Averse to Truth—I shall not praise you much.
Look back, look back, recall recall the Time

When your Ambition zealously pursu'd
Supream Command o'er all the Grecian Chiefs,
To lead our vengeful Arms to treacherous Troy.
An humble Seeming you indeed put on,
As if you'd shun what most your Heart desir'd.
How lowly then! how fawning then on All!
With flattering Hand you courted every one;
Your Gates set wide to the inglorious Vulgar;
Familiar with the Meanest; hearing All,
And seeking those, who sought not Agamemnon.
Yes, with obsequious Bows you brib'd the Mob
To give that Empire, you so ill can bear.
No sooner had you gain'd your Wish, Command,
But all your supple Manners were thrown by.
You to your Friends no more confess'd the Friend;
Hard of Access, and rarely seen abroad;
All mean and low! A Man of Honour shou'd
Then be most fixt, and zealous for his Friends,
When by his Fortune he can most assist them.
As soon as I perciev'd this shameful Error,
I like a Friend and Brother told you of it.
Again in Aulis here—
Since the great Gods deny'd to swell our Sails
With prosperous Gales, your haughty Spirit fell,
You were dismaid, dejected, and forlorn.
The Grecians cry aloud to be dismiss'd,
And not to languish in this Port in vain.
How wretched hadst thou been, and how inglorious,
How full of Anguish, Agonies of Death?
Had you then ceas'd to lead these strong Batalions
To fill the Trojan Fields with warlike Greeks?
In this Distress you then cou'd think of me,
Ask my Advice how to avoid this Shame.
But then when Calchas from the Victims found,
Your Daughter offer'd at Diana's Altar,
Wou'd give the Greeks a safe and speedy Voyage;

Thy well pleas'd Eyes confess'd the sudden Joy
That spread it self thro' all thy inward Pow'rs,
Thy ready Tongue declar'd thy willing Mind
That she shou'd know the Goddess sacred Knife;
Free, unconstrain'd, and not by any Force;
Pretend not that, you high Commands you sent,
That she to Aulis shou'd with speed repair;
Deciev'd by thee, with the false promis'd Joy
Of being the long-wish'd Bride of great Achilles.
But here by a strange Whirle and Change of Will,
You other Letters send to countermand her.
You will not be the Murtherer of your Daughter!
How many thus with an unsteady Hand
Do steer the dangerous Helm of Government,
Fond to engage in some great bold Design,
Yet swift to quit it when they are engag'd.
Aw'd by the People some, and some more justly
Compell'd to guard from Foes their own Dominions.
But I the unhappy Fate of Greece deplore
All arm'd, and ready to assault the Foe,
And with full Glory quash the proud Barbarian,
Are left their Sport and Scorn—
For the Repose of the great Agamemnon!
Oh! ne'er advance a Man for Wealth, or Power,
Wisdom alone deserves supream Command,
And a wise Man is naturally a King. Chor.
All Brothers Quarrels are unhappy Things. Agam.
With Truth I shall reproach you, in few Words,
For Insolence like this deserves not many,
A Brother's Name shall teach my injur'd Tongue
A Modesty, it seems, to you unknown.
Tho' Modesty does seldom touch the Base,
For when bright Honour has the Breast forsook,
Seldom confederate Modesty prevails.

Then, tell me, Sir, the Cause of all this Rage?
Whence all this Anger? whence this Indignation?
Who is't that injures or affronts you here?
What is't you want? pray what is your Desire?
Your virtuous Wife? your happy nuptial State?
At my Expence must I restore your Wishes?
Which when possest your own ill Conduct lost you?
What to regain your beauteous faithless Wife
Wou'd you thus tread on Honesty and Reason?
The Pleasures of ill Men are evil all!
Oh! vain! oh! doating Madness! oh! blind Folly!
The Gods, indulgent to thy Happiness,
Have rid thee of a false, injurious Wife,
And thou fond Fool now burnst with strange Desire,
To force the distant Plague home to thy Bosome!
The Suters to this Helena with you
Each, by falacious Hope of her betray'd
To Tynd'rus swore that with united Arms
They wou'd defend the happy Man she chose.
Apply to these, with these pursue the War
But conscious of the Weakness of that Oath,
Compell'd by Fraud or Folly, you despair
If I forsake your foul detested Cause,
Will not be strong enough to lead them on.
But Menelaus, this assure thy self,
My guiltless Child for you I shall not murder.
Shou'd I comply wild Horror and Remorse
Wou'd haunt my daily Thoughts and nightly Slumbers.
What I have said is, Sir, so plain and easie,
You need no Comment to explain my Meaning.
But if you still to Justice will be blind
I shall however, Sir, protect my own. Chor.
This differs from the former, yet it teaches,
That of our Children we shou'd take just Care.

Men.
O! Gods! how very wretched am I grown!
I have no Friends! Agam.
Yes, yes, you shall have Friends
If you will not destroy 'em. Men.
Oh! in what
In what do you confess the Friend and Brother,
Of the same Father born? Agam.
I shall be wise
Not mad with you. Men.
Friends Griefs are common. Agam.
Then call me Friend, when you design no Harm. Men.
This Obstinacy's vain, for sure thou knowst
In this thou must content with Greece, not me. Agam.
Greece too, like thee, by some ill Fury's haunted. Men.
Oh! proud, and vain of Empire! thou betray'st
To that, thy Brother. But I shall apply
To other Arts, and other Friends for Justice. [Going. Enter Messenger. Mess.
O! Agamemnon King of all the Greeks,
I bring you pleasing News! now in the Camp
Your Daughter Iphigenia is arriv'd,
And Clytemnestra your beloved Queen,
With young Orestes.—This Royal Troop
After so long an Absence must be welcome.
With Speed I came before to bring the News.
The Army throngs to see the glorious Sight.
Some talk of Nuptials for the Royal Virgin;
Some, that she comes to be in sacred Rites
Of great Diana here initiated.
But you, O! Agamemnon! crown your Brows,
And, Menelaus, share the Nuptial Joys.
Let Music and the Dancers celebrate
This happy Day.

Agam.
Thy Zeal and Joy I do commend, be gone,
I of the rest will take peculiar Care.
  Ah! me! Oh!—Oh! wretched Agamemnon!
What shall I say? Oh! where shall I begin?
Into what Noose of Fate am I now fal'n!
'Tis the malicious Cunning of my Fortune
Thus to prevent my just paternal Care!
Oh! happy State of mean, and low Degree!
There Grief at Liberty may vent her Moans.
And give their mournful Thoughts a plaintive Tongue!
But Greatness is confin'd to hateful Form!
The People us, not we the People govern.
Proud Majesty denies my Woes Relief,
Shame stops the flowing Torrent of my Grief;
But not to weep is yet a greater Shame!
Thus a chain'd Slave I prove to a great Name.
I must curb Nature, and deny its Course;
And tho' I'm fal'n into the greatest Woe,
That any mortal Wretch can ever know;
Yet in my Breast the Anguish must contain
And only I my self must know my Pain.
But Oh! my Wife! what shall I say to her?
How shall I meet her? with what Looks behold her?
Her coming has redoubled all my Woe!
She comes unsent for, no invited Guest.
Yet who can blame the tender Mother's Care,
To do the dearest Office to her Child?
But now the foul perfidious Cause she'll find
Of her most inauspicious Journey.
Or how shall I restrain the bursting Tears,
When I receive the tender hapless Virgin!
Ha! now methinks I see her Suppliant Kneel
With lifted Hands, and upcast streaming Eyes
And trembling Lips thus pittifully pleading;
Oh! Father will you kill me? will your Hand,

A Father's Hand give me to such Nuptials?
And then the little Infant young Orestes
In broken Sounds, and yet intelligible
Accuse me of his dearest Sister's Murder!
Alas! alas! how have the cursed Nuptials
Of the Barbarian Paris thus destroy'd me!
For he has brought these cursed Evils on me. Men.
Give me your Hand, give me your dear Hand! Agam.
Here take it for it is your Victory. Men.
By Pelops our Grandsire and our Father Atreus
I swear, my Brother, what I'm going to say
Are the sincerest Dictates of my Mind.
I cou'd not see the Tears fall from thy Eyes,
Thy awful Eyes but Pity split my Soul,
And the big Drops run tumbling down my Face.
My Rage ebb'd out apace, and now I see,
I ought not to be happy by thy Misery.
Now by the Gods you shall not touch your Daughter
Thy Iphigenia is, for me, immortal.
Why shou'd thine dye, and mine remain alive.
Helen is not so dear to this fond Breast,
To make me trample Nature under foot;
And purchase her Embraces by thy Blood.
The heat of Youth, and my untam'd Desire
Made me speak madly when I urg'd the Deed.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful thing to slay ones Child
To dip our Hands in our own Off-springs Blood.
'Tis monstrous! 'tis unnatural.—
No let the Army be dismiss'd with Speed
And march away from Aulis to their Homes;
But cease thy Tears, by Heav'n I cannot bear them.
I never will urge more the fatal Theme.
By all the Gods she shall not dye for me,
For what has she to do with Helena?

By Jove I love my Royal Brother so
I wou'd not be the Cause of his Unrest,
To be the happy Monarch of the World.
And my Heart akes, that e'er I shock'd thee so.
We may repent, with Honour, our Misdeeds. Chorus.
Generously hast thou said O! Menelaus!
And worthy Tantalus the Son of Jove. Agam.
O! Menelaus! I do feel thy Kindness
That thou hast thus deceiv'd my Expectation
In Words that truly do confess the Brother. Men.
Passion may sometimes warp a generous Mind
But such a cruel Kindred I abhor. Agam.
But Oh! my Brother such hard Fate surrounds me
I cannot 'scape this bloody Sacrifice,
For Iphigenia must a Victim fall. Men.
Who can compel you to destroy your Daughter. Agam.
The whole Grecian Army. Men.
Send her back to Argos. Agam.
That cannot be; I cannot so deceive them. Men.
You ought not by the Vulgar thus be aw'd. Agam.
Calchas alas! the Oracle will reveal, Men.
Suppose him Dead. The Dead can tell no Tales. Agam.
Oh! but that Son of Sysiphus knows all. Men.
In what can Ulysses injure Agamemnon? Agam.
His artful Tongue commands the Soldiers Hearts. Men.
He's fond indeed of Popular Applause. Agam.
Oh! think him, therefore, by the Troops surrounded,
The secret Oracle by Calchas told,
Divulging to the listening Warriours Ears;
My Piety stiling impious Sacriledge,
Refusing to the Grecian Glory

The Victim that Diana has requir'd.
The Army won by these his smooth Pretences
Both you and I shall fall by their dire Rage;
Yet by our Death not save my Daughter's Life.
Suppose we fled to Argos from the Camp:
My Flight with Sword, and Fire they wou'd pursue
And lay my Country waste. It wonnot be!
I must be wretched and my Child must die!
Thus Woe and Misery surround me!
Into these Streights the Gods reduce me!
But Oh! my Brother! this alone canst thou,
Let not my Wife the fatal Business know
Before my Child I've offer'd up to Pluto.
That with the fewest Tears I may, I be unhappy.

Tho' I have taken some Latitude in the Translation and made bold to leave out sometimes a Word or two, and sometimes a Line or two, which related more to Custom, than the Passion, yet I have been far from making Euripides Amends for what he loses in the Translation. As it is I leave it to be by the Reader compared with that of Mr. Dryden in Troilus and Cressida, and that of Shakespear in this Play.

This indeed is a juster Way of the Tryal of our Poets excelling the Ancients, than what Mr. Hales of Eaton, my Lord Falkland, &c. took in the Comparison of Topics for if he here prevail, he will indeed get a Victory in a real Province of Poetry. I am surpris'd that so judicious a Poet as Racine shou'd omit this admirable Scene in his Iphigenia in Aulis, at the same time that he made a quarrelling Scene betwixt Agamemnon and Achilles. I have said so much on the two most beautiful Parts of this Play, that I shall leave the rest to the Reader, this being a Play so often acted that they are obvious to every Body.

There is one thing in this Play which I remark for those judicious Gentlemen, who by a swelling gouty Style have set up for fine Language in the Drama. The Stile of this Play is generally speaking plain, easie and natural.

Which Dreams indeed are Ambition for the very Substance of the Ambitious is meerly the Shadow of a Dream.

On Man, p. 2401.

What a piece of Worth is Man? how noble in Reason? how infinite in Faculty, in Form, and

Moving how express and admirable? In Action how like an Angel? In Apprehension how like a God! The Beauty of the World, &c.

In Hamlet's Speech to the Players Shakespear gives us his whole Knowledge of the Drama, and for that Reason this favourable Judgment of a Play, that did not please the Million is what shou'd teach some of our successful Poets not to value themselves meerly on Success, since the Million often fail, tho' as Horace says they sometimes hit right.

I heard thee speak me a Speech once, but it was never acted, or if it was, not above once, for the Play I remember, pleas'd not the Million, it was Caviare to the General; but it was as I received it, and others, whose Judgment in such Matters, cry'd to the Top of mine an excellent Play—well digested in the Scenes, set down with as much Modesty as Cunning, &c. p. 2404.

Let them be well us'd, for they are the Abstracts and brief Chronicles of the Time, &c. 2406.

The Power and Force of Tragedy, in this and other Particulars has been confirmed by undoubted

History. Alexander Tyrant of Pherea a City of Thessaly seeing the Hecuba of Euripides acted, found himself so affected, that he went out before the End of the first Act, saying, That he was asham'd to be seen to weep at that Misfortune of Hecuba and Polyxana, when he daily imbrued his Hands in the Blood of his own Citizens. He was afraid (says the admirable Dacier) that his Heart shou'd be truly mollified; that the Spirit of Tyranny wou'd now leave the Possession of his Breast, and that he should come a private Person out of that Theatre, into which he enter'd Master. The Actor who so sensibly touch'd him, with Difficulty escap'd with his Life, but was secur'd by some Remains of that Pity, which was the Cause of his Crime.

I cannot here omit what Benefit the City of Athens it self receiv'd from some Verses of the Electra of Euripides, in its great Distress; for when it was debated, that the City of Athens shou'd be destroy'd, and the Country laid waste, a milder Course was taken by the Commanders, by one of them repeating these Verses out of the Electra of Euripides.

This shook them (says Plutarch in the Life of Lysander) and gave an Occasion to reflect how barbarous it wou'd appear to lay that City in Ruin, which had been renown'd for the Birth and Education of so many famous Men.

Hamlet's Solilquy, 2409.

Hamlet's Advice and Directions to Players is very good containing very good Precepts of a just Pronunciation, which being as useful for those, who Judge, as those who act I shall take more Notice of them.

Speak the Speech I pray you as I pronounc'd it to you trippingly on the Tongue. But if you mouth it as many of our Players do, I had as live the Town Cryer had spoke my Lines. Nor do not saw the Air too much with your Hand thus, but use all gently; for in the very Torrent, Tempest, and I may say the Whirle-wind of Passion, you must beget a Temperance, that may give it Smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the Soul to see a roboustous Periwig-pated Fellow tear a Passion to Tatters, to very Rags, to split the Ears of the Groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb Shows, and Noise, &c. and a little further.

—Be not too tame neither, but let your own Discretion be your Tutor. Sute the Action to the Word, and the Word to the Action; with this especial Observance, that you o'ertop not the Modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone, is from the Purpose of Playing; whose End both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere a Mirror up to Nature. To show Vertue her own Feature; Scorn her own Image; and the very Age and Body of the Time his Form and Pressure. Now this over done, or come tardy of, tho' it make the unskilful Laugh cannot but make the Judicious grieve. The Censure of which one must in your Allowance, o'ersway a whole Theatre of others. Oh! there be Players, that I have seen Play, and heard others Praise, and that highly (not to speak it prophanely) that neither having the Accent of Christians, nor the Gate of Christian, Pagan, nor Norman, have so strutted and bellow'd, that I have thought some of Natures Journey Men had made Men, and not made them well, they imitated Humanity so abominably.—and let those that Play the Clowns speak no more, than is set down for them for there be of them, that will of themselves laugh to set on some Quantity of barren Spectators to laugh too, tho' in the mean Time some necessary Question of the Play be then to be consider'd. That's Villainous, and shows a most pityful Ambition in the Fool that uses it p. 2413, and 14.

These Precepts of Shakespear are as valuable, as any thing in him, for indeed thoroughly study'd and understood they teach the whole Art of the Stage, which relates to the Representation or the Actors; who still are too commonly guilty of

these very Follies, which Shakespear observ'd in the Players of his Time.

I shall say no more in Explanation of this here designing a particular Discourse on the Art of Pronounciation and Acting, for it is not sufficient for a Player to speak well, he must give what he says its true Action; he must look his Part, he must be the Man, he represents according to the very Lineaments of the Passion, or Humour which he represents or else he is no Actor. They are call'd Actors not Speakers, and a Mistake in the accenting a Word, or ev'n in a vicious Tone of Utterance may be forgiven, but an ill Action is an Error in the Fundamentals. There is a Lady on the Stage who may perhaps be sometimes out in her Speaking, but always so Charms in her Action, that she will not suffer a Lover of the Art not to sink the smaller Error in the greater Beauty. Our Actors are very liable to neglect the Decorum of the Representation, and when they have form'd them to the Figure of a passionate Man as long as they speak, while the Opposite speaks, are as calm as if unconcern'd in the Matter, whereas in Nature no Man in Anger, Love or Grief but minds what the other says and is as much concern'd in it as if he spoke himself. In this Particular no Body can excell Mrs. Barry, whom I have frequently observ'd change her Colour, and discover a Concern that equal'd Nature; this is no Flattery to her but barely Justice.

But not to dwell on this Subject, or anticipate what I have to say in a longer Discussion of this Point let us return to the fine things of this Play of Hamlet. His Speech to Horatio p. 2414 has many good Lines. The Queen's Protests in the Play that's introduc'd, and the King's Discourse

with her is worth reading for the Lines and the Reflections p. 2417. 18. The Scene betwixt his Mother, and Hamlet is generally very well; tho' perhaps it is capable of Improvement; that part of the Scene where the Ghost comes in is very strong; as indeed Shakespear is in the former Scene, which as I have been assur'd he wrote in a Charnel House in the midst of the Night. from p. 2426 to p. 2431.

The Discourse betwixt Hamlet and the Grave Maker is full of moral Reflections and worthy minding, tho' that Discourse it self has nothing to do there, where it is, nor of any use to the Design, and may be as well left out; and what ever can be left out has no Business in a Play, but this being low Comedy has still less to do here. p. 2450 to 2453. The Character Hamlet gives of Osrick is very Satirical and wou'd be good any where else. p. 2459.

Edgar's Description of the Precipice of Dover Cliff is very good, p. 2530.

Against the gross and Idolatrous Flattery of Princes see Lear's Madness, p. 2532. They flatter'd ‘me like a Dog, and told me that I had white Hairs in my Beard e'er the black ones were there, to say Ay, and No to every thing I said’—Ay and No too was no good Divinity. When the Rain came to wet me once, and the Wind to make me chatter, when the Thunder wou'd not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt them out—go to, they are not Men of their Words; they told me I was every thing, 'tis a Lie I am not Ague Proof. Tho' all Lear's Madness is good, yet p. 2544 is particularly remarkable for the satyrical Reflections—The Userer hangs the Couzener. Through tatter'd Cloaths great Vices do appear, &c.

For this Story read Milton's and Tyrrel's History

of England and Leland, with Geofry of Monmouth, &c.

So that notwithstanding our Murmurers in the Army and other Places we find Merit and Right have been post-pon'd to Favour long before our

Days. Iago's Harangue against Honesty in this Page is severe enough; and 'tis pity that the Satire is too true p. 2562. Brabantio urges what I before remark'd of the improbability of his Daughters being won by the Moor, but by Charms and Witch-craft.

I do not think Othello's Account to the Senate of the progress of his Love with Desdemona so ridiculous as Mr. Rimer makes it, for, as for the Canibals; and Men whose Heads grew beneath their Shoulders, &c. being Objects of vulgar Credulity, they are as probable and as moving, as the Cyclops and Harpyes of Virgil; and then abating for the Colour of the Moor, and the improbability of his having that Post, the Tale has a great deal of the Pathos. p. 2565. 68. Iago to insinuate into Roderego that he may have hopes of Desdemona, says p. 2580.—mark me with what violence she lov'd the Moor but for bragging, and telling her fantastical Lies, &c.

There are in this Play as well as in most of this Poet a great abundance of Soliloquies in which the Dramatic Person discourses with the Audience his Designs, his Temper, &c. which are highly unnatural, and not to be imitated by any one.

The Moor has not bedded his Lady till he came to Cyprus, nay it was not done, p. 2582 and 3. and yet it is before and after urg'd that she was or might be sated with him. But those little Forgetfulnesses are not worth minding.

Against Reputation. p. 2589.

Reputation is an idle, and most false Imposition, oft got without Merit, and lost without deserving, &c.

Content is Wealth. 2600.
Poor and Content is Rich, and Rich enough
But Rich fineless, is as poor as Winter, &c.

Othello's Soliloquie before he kills Desdemona has been much admir'd. p. 2636.

Do draw the inward Quality after them
To suffer all alike—&c. p 2710.

The Incident of Eros killing himself instead of Antony when his Back is turn'd, Mr. Dryden has borrow'd in his All for Love, for Ventidius p. 2729. And Cleopatra's sending him Word that she had kill'd her self, is made use of in near the same Manner by our late Laureat, in the forequoted Play of his.

For the Plot or Story of this Piece read Plutarch's Life of Anthony; Suetonius in Aug. Dion Cassius lib. 48. Orosius l. 6. c. 7. Cluny. l. 4. c. 11. Appian. l. 5.

Against Women, p. 2782.
Is there no Way for Men to be, but Women
Must be half Workers? &c.

The Speech of Bellarius to Aviragus and Guiderius, p. 2788. contains many fine Reflections— Consider when you above perceive me like a Crow, that it is Place that lessens and sets off, &c. And in his next Speech—Did you but know the Cities Usuries, and felt them knowingly, the Art i' th' Court, &c. His Description of the Temper and Action of Guiderius on hearing a Martial Story. Pag. 2789, and 90.

Pisanio's Description of the Temper of a pert Boy or Page is a propos enough.

The Handmaids of all Women, or more truly
Woman its pretty self, into a waggish Courage
Ready in Gybes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrelous as a Weezel, &c. p. 2794.

Imogen on Lies and Falshood pretty enough, p. 2800. Two Beggars told me I could not miss my Way, will poor Folks Lie, &c.

The Plot of this Play is taken from Barcaces's Novels. Day 2. Nov. 9.

There are besides these on which I have some few Remarks The London Prodigal, Thomas Lord Cromwel, Sir John Old-castle, The Puritan or the Widow of Watling-street, The Yorkshire Tragedy and Locrine; which, as I am very well assur'd, are none of Shakespear's, nor have any thing in them to give the least Ground to think them his; not so

much as a Line; the Stile, the manner of Diction, the Humours, the Dialogue, as distinct as any thing can possibly be. In the worst of those which are genuine, there are always some Lines, various Expressions, and the turn of Thought which discover it to have been the Product of Shakespear: But in these Six I can find none of these Signs.

But as this was no Improvement in the Art of the Drama, so had it been so, 'tis plain, that the Moderns cou'd not make any Pretence to the Invention, and by Consequence can give us no manner of Advantage over the Greek Poets in that particular.

His next Argument is—That the Tragedies of the Greeks was taken from some Tale drawn from Thebes or Troy, or at least something, that happen'd in those Ages, which were so known to the Audience, that they cou'd not afford any Delight.

But let us hear his own Words—And the People as soon as ever they hear'd the Name of Oedipus, knew as well as the Poet, that he had kill'd his Father by Mistake, and committed Incest with his Mother before the Play; that they were now to hear of a great Plague, an Oracle, and the Ghost of Laius, so that they set with a yawning Expectation till he was to come with his Eyes out, and speak an hundred or two of Verses in a tragic Tone in Complaint of his Misfortunes. But one Oedipus, Hercules or Medea had been tolerable; good People they scap'd not so cheap, they had still the Chapon bouille set before them, till their Apetites were cloy'd with the same Dish, and the Novelty being gone the Pleasure vanish'd—So that one main End of Dramatic Poetry in its Definition which was to cause Delight was destroy'd.

I have transcrib'd so many of his own Words meerly to show the vain and wretched Triumph of a Man, who was so far from gaining any Advantage over the Ancients, that he is out in every Particular. That most of the Fables were taken from those celebrated Stories of the fabulous Age of Greece is true, but that all are so is far from Truth, for the Persians of Æschylus was not so, and some of Agatho's and other of the Greek Poets now lost, were pure Fictions of their own as is plain from Aristotle's Art of Poetry and from Horace's Rule.

Nay this was so common a Practice, that Aristotle himself draws one of his Rules from it, and from which Horace took that just quoted. Next

Mr. Dryden was either ignorant, or forgot that tho' the same Action was wrote upon by several of the Greek Poets, yet the Conduct and Managment of it was always different, and the Ingenuity of that Variation was extreamly entertaining to so polite a People. Thus Euripides took the Story of Iphigenia in Tauris, and Polyides, and Agatho, and others did the same, yet the Discovery is made in much a different Manner. Euripides makes Iphigenia, before she goes to sacrifice Orestes, write a Letter to her Brother Orestes, and give it to Pylades to deliver to him, and lest he should lose the Letter tells him the Contents of it, by which the Discovery is made, that she is Iphigenia, which with the Proof of Orestes saves his Life, and they both make their Escape. Polyides made a Play on the same Subject, in which Orestes was brought to the Altar to be sacrific'd, who when he was going to receive the fatal Blow from the Hands of his Sister Iphigenia cries out, As my Sister was sacrific'd to Diana, so must I be sacrific'd to the same. This made Iphigenia know her Brother and save him. For indeed the various and different Traditions of those Stories left the Poet at Liberty to take which he pleas'd, and that gave a Variety even to the same Story; as in the Revenge of Alcmeon for his Father's Death; some make him kill his Mother knowingly, as Sophocles has made Orestes in his Electra, some not knowing her till after he had done the Deed, and others prevent the Deed by a Discovery of her being his Mother. And these Discoveries were extreamly entertaining to People of that fine Taste, which the Athenians had, as is plain from what Plutarch says when he tells us that when Merope went to kill her Son, there was a murmuring among the Spectators, which show'd not only

their Attention, but the Interest they gave themselves in the Misfortune of a Mother, who was going to kill her Son, and of a Son who was to dye by the Hands of his Mother.

But methinks that if this had been a real Objection he wou'd never have chose to write upon the Story of Anthony after Shakespear and some others, the various Conduct of the same Story takes away that Dulness which he apprehends from hearing the same so often. This is confirm'd by the beginning of Mr. Dryden's own Preface to All for Love—The Death of Anthony and Cleopatra, says he, is a Subject, which has been treated by the greatest Wits of our Nation after Shakespear; and by all so variously, that their Example has given me the Confidence to try my self in the Bow of Ulysses among the Crowd of Suiters, and with all to take my own Measures in aiming at the Mark.

But this indeed was wrote some Time after the Essay on Poetry, and may therefore differ from it, as most of Mr. Dryden's critical Prefaces do. He has given another Instance in his Oedipus, wrote upon not only by the Greeks, Seneca and Corneille but by some of our old English Poets, yet he has told us, that they are different Plays tho' on the same Subject. His indeed differs extreamly from that of Sophocles; and tho' he condemns Seneca absolutely, and Corneille almost as much yet he has taken the Description of the Plague the Ghost of Laius from Seneca, and an Under-plot from Corneille, not that his Under-plot is the same, but as an Under-plot it is the same Error copy'd from a Man he condemn'd and here I can't but take Notice, that of all he has said against Oedipus in the foregoing Quotation, there is not one particular to be found in Sophocles. He has no Ghost

of Laius he has no stir in a Description of a Plague, nor any but an extream pathetick Complaint of his Misfortunes.

But after all this Talk of the Pleasures being vanish'd after the Novelty is gon is highly ridiculous; for this wou'd hold good against all Plays that had been seen above once, and be more so in those of Corneille, and his English Imitations, which depend on Admiration, or the Instricacy of an Intrigue, which after it has been seen like a Jugler's Tricks when known, have nothing entertaining; for we then know it all as well as the Athenians cou'd know Oedipus, Thyestes, or any other of the Greek Stories; as for Example the Discovery in the Spanish Fryar, Don Sebastian, the Accidents of the Five Hours Adventures, &c. yet Mr. Dryden wou'd never have yielded, that the Argument against the Fables of the Antients wou'd hold good against the acting or seeing any of his Plays but once. But the Passions or Manners of the Antients are so admirably perform'd the Harmony of the Parts so charming and perfect, that they will bear viewing like an admirable Piece of Painting for ever, and afford a strong and lively Pleasure. It is not a little Knot, or Difficulty in a vain Intrigue, that supports a Play or gives that Pleasure, which is deriv'd from Tragedy; but it is the good and judicious Contrivance and Conduct of the whole in Incidents productive of Terror and Compassion; and by the artful Working up of the Passions, and Expression of the Manners, Sentiments and the like, which must delight the sensible Soul when ever they are seen.

Besides his Description of the Oscitation, and languid beholding of the Athenian Plays without Pleasure is directly contrary to the very matter

of Fact, as is plain from the Instance of Merope I gave out of Plutarch and from the Athenians Practice, who sate whole Days to see these Performances.

In the next Place he brings Tragicomedies as a Proof of the Preference of the Moderns to the Ancients, tho' as weakly and to as little Purpose to his Cause, as any thing he had before urg'd. But let us see his own Words—I must therefore have stronger Arguments e'er I am convinc'd, that Compassion and Mirth in the same Subject destroy each other, and in the mean time cannot but conclude to the Honour of our Nation, that we have invented, increas'd and perfected a more pleasant Way of Writing than ever was known to the Antients, or Moderns of any Nation, which is Tragicomedy.

There is scarce a Word of this Quotatiation which is true either in Fact or Criticism. For first we did not invent Tragicomedy, as is plain from the Prologue of Plautus to his Amphitryo.

Nay this unnatural Mixture was even before Tragedy was in Perfection; that is in the Infancy of the Stage in both Athens and Rome; till rejected and the Stage reformed from it by the greatest Wits and Poets of these Cities, as a Mixture wholly monstruous and unnatural. Nam Dicacitatem & Facetias per se Tragœdia non habet, quippe cui sit Risus Inimicus (ut ait Demetrius Phalerius) & in qua nil nisi miserabile & terrificum ostendatur.

For wit and Railery belongs not properly to Tragedy, to which Laughter is an Enemy (as Demetrius Phalerius observes) in which nothing is shown but what is pitiful and terrible.

Thus what the Romans and Greeks rejected from the first ignorant Performances of the first Essays of the Stage; Mr. Dryden has made the highest Perfection we have over them, and so it is indeed, for we differ from them in nothing but in retaining those Faults which the Ignorance of our first Writers brought in, which they threw aside from their ruder Sketches, that they might indeed arrive at a real Perfection.

But Mr. Dryden goes on—He tells us (says he) that we cannot so speedily recollect our selves after a Scene of great Passion, and Concernment, as to pass to another of Mirth and Humour, and enjoy it with any Relish. But why should he imagine the Soul of Man more heavy, than his Senses? Does not the Eye pass from an unpleasant Object to a pleasant one, in much shorter Time, than is requir'd to this? And does not the Unpleasantness of the first commend the Beauty of the latter? The old Rule of Logic might have convinc'd him, that Contraries plac'd near set off each other, &c.

I wonder he would lay the Objection so strong and yet answer it so weakly. For the Soul can no more pass in a Moment from the Tumult of a strong Passion in which it is throughly engag'd, than the Sea can pass from the most turbulent and furious Storm, into a perfect Calm in a Moment. There must be time for the terrible Emotion to subside by Degrees into a Calm; and there must be a gradual Passage from the extream of Grief, Pity or the like to its opposite Mirth, Humour, or Laughter. The Simile therefore, which he lays down as a Proof is so far from an Argument

of what he contends for, that it is in no Manner a Parallel, nor even will it hold in it self as here urg'd. There is no Agreement betwixt the Passage of the Eye from one Object to another of different, nay contrary Kinds, and a Soul work'd up to the Height of Grief, Pity, Indignation, Love, &c. starting from these in a Moment to calm Enjoyment of Mirth and Laughter; nor is this any Argument of the Heaviness of the Soul, for 'tis impossible to quit that in a Moment in which it was engag'd by Steps or Degrees. Here we have nothing to do with Heaviness or Lightness but in a Metaphorical Sense, meaning Dulness or Vivacity, but such a swift Passage of the Soul from opposite to opposite, is a Proof of a Dulness of Spirit, which cou'd not be engag'd throughly in any Passion. But the Instance of the Eye it self is not rightly suppos'd; for if the Eye be fixt with Pleasure on a grave and serious Object, suppose the taking our Saviour from the Cross by Jordan of Antwerp, the Eye thus attach'd will neither soon nor easily remove it self to look on a Droll-piece of Hemskirk, &c. But granting, that it remove with Ease and Swiftness from an Object that is unpleasant to one that is delightful: Will it return with the same Facility from the pleasant to the unpleasant, as in Tragicomedy, where the Soul is to start from Tears to Laughter, and from Laughter to Tears, five times in one Play; such a Soul must be like some Childrens and Womens who can weep and laugh in a Breath. But as Mr. Dryden in this Instance did not consider the Nature of the Soul, so did he not that of the Eye, for Objects are pleasing or displeasing to that only as they please or displease the Mind, so that he leaves the Controversy undecided, or rather he perfectly

yields the Point by bringing nothing against it of the least Force and Validity. If by this Instance he mean only the mere mechanic Motion of the Eye without any Concern in the Object it has as little to do with the Soul engag'd, for then the Simile shou'd be the Soul disengag'd in any Particular, and the meer swiftness of the Transition of the Mind from one Thought to another. Thus take him which way you will his Instance has nothing to do with the Matter in Hand, but has left the Absurdity where he found it in Tragi Comedy. I confess most of our Tragi-comedies are such as engage the Passions so very little, that the Transition from the Serious to the comical Part may be quick and easie; but then the Argument has nothing to do here for that which was to be prov'd was the swift Transition from Grief to Mirth or the like.

But (says Mr. Dryden) a Scene of Mirth mix'd with Tragedy has the same Effect upon us, which our Musick has between the Acts; and that we find a Relief to us from the best Plot and Language of the Stage if the Discourses have been long.

By this he wou'd make the Comic Part of no more Relation to the Play, than the Music, which betwixt the Acts that has none at all. But the Parallel here is as defective as in the former: For the Music employing only Sounds, may by them contribute gradually to the calming the Soul, restoring that Tranquility which the ruffling of a great Passion had rais'd, here is nothing to require the Attention of the Mind or Reason; here is no start from one Extreamity to the other, which confounds and not relieves the agitated Soul. But according to this Notion of his they

might compendiously act a Tragedy and a Comedy together, first a Scene of Tragedy, and then a Scene of Comedy; but sure Mr. Dryden nor any of his Opinion wou'd never think this a Perfection, and such a Perfection found out, and improv'd by us, as the Antients, nor any other Nation of the Moderns ever knew? And yet most if not all of our Modern Tragi-comedies are even as if a Tragedy and Comedy was acted together; the Comic Part of them having no more to do with or Relation to the Tragic, than if it were another Play; as in the Spanish Fryar, the Comedy of which has with Success been acted by it self without any Gap in the Representation; which is a Proof that it is no Part of the Tragedy since it is not maim'd by the seperation. And yet Mr. Dryden pleasantly enough tells his Patron in the Beginning of his Dedication—Accordingly I us'd the best of my Endeavour, in the management of two Plots so very different from each other, that it was not perhaps the Talent of every Writer to have made them of a Piece— Since he himself has not done it in any one Particular; unless it be by making two or three of the under Parts of the serious Part, the chief Persons in the Comic, which yet does not connect them so but that end may be acted seperately, and make a different Comedy and Tragedy; which needs no great Talent to perform since no Poet cou'd do less in his worst Performance. Had he indeed, united them so, that the Fryar, Lorenzo, Gomez, Elvira, &c. had contributed to the carrying on the Plot, or Design of the Queen, Torrismond, &c. or the Discovery of the Birth of Torrismond, or the Life of old Sancho, there had been some Ground to say they were of a Piece; but whilst they carry on two several nay different

Designs, they are two distinct Plays tho' lamely tack'd together, acted together and Printed together, as one Play.

The Authors Supposition of so quick a Transition from Grief, Anger, &c. to Mirth or Laughter wou'd go a great way, to convince a sensible Man, that he seldom, or never had himself experimentally felt those Emotions of Soul, which a true Passion excites, and therefore knew not how it is fixt to a Passion, it is engag'd in, by a well written Scene. But in this he was always equal to himself. He was once talking of translating Homer, and I recommended Euripides to his Pen, but he reply'd that he did not like the Poet, which was a Proof that he had but little Taste of Nature, or that he was affraid to do that Poet Justice in the English Language, left his charming Draughts of Nature shou'd refine our Taste, and make us contemn the tinsel Trifles of our modern Writers of Tragedy. But I am rather apt to think it was his want of a true Relish of Nature having been early misled by a great Conversation with the French Romances, which are just Opposites to Nature; because he told a Gentleman being by one Day at the Coffee-house who had met with Success in some of his Plays, that he wou'd make much such another Poet, as Otway; the Gentleman justly reply'd, that he desir'd to be no greater.

I shou'd not have taken so much Pains with this Essay of Mr. Dryden, had it not been Printed in his Works without any Mark of the Alteration of his Opinion; because the ignorant Reader, that depends on his Judgment in Print will be misled by his Authority, and the Speciousness of his Reasons. And this I hope will be my Excuse for opposing a Man, who must by all be acknowledg'd to have

much improv'd our Verification and to have discover'd a Genius in his other Writings, which justly claims our Admiration. But that very thing is what must justify my Undertaking, since the very Authority which his Merits give him will be the more prejudicial in establishing his Errors.

Before I quit this Point I must take Notice that the Author of Shakespear's Life is of Opinion, that Tragicomedy will take more, than Tragedies; but he having given no Instances to prove this Opinion, I must only take it for a Supposition, which has more probability of Falshood, than Truth. For we have not for some Years past had any of that kind on the Stage, which have pleas'd; The Fatal Marriage and Oroonoko are the last, that I can remember; and I am apt to believe, that more were pleas'd with the Tragic Part of both those Plays, than with the Comic. Thus the Scene of the Historical Dialogues of Shakespear please by a sort of Prescription, yet let any Man in our Days bring any such thing upon the Stage, he wou'd soon be convinc'd of his Error by a just Condemnation.

I hope by this Time I have made it plain, that the Moderns have not got any Advantage above the Antients in the Drama by what Mr. Dryden has urg'd in their behalf in the Particulars above mention'd, but there still remains another Objection, tho' much more modestly urg'd in his Preface to All for Love, in which Play he at last confesses, that the Antients ought to be our Masters, and allows what Horace says to be just.

&lblank; Vos Exemplaria Græca
Nocturna vesate Manu, versatu Diuran.

But then—Yet tho' their Models are regular, they are too little for English Tragedy, which requires to be built on a larger Compass Tho' I cou'd answer him from himself in his Preface to Oedipus, after he has said more in this Point, or rather explain'd what he says here; yet I shall examine the Weight of what he urges. But first let us hear him in the fore-quoted Preface to Oedipus. ‘Sophocles is indeed admirable every where, and therefore we have follow'd him as close as ever we cou'd. But the Athenian Theatre (whether more perfect, than ours is not now disputed) had a Perfection differing from ours. You see there in every Act a single Scene (or two at the most) which manages the Business of the Play, and after that succeeds the Chorus, which commonly takes up more Time in singing, than there has been employ'd in speaking. The principal Person appears almost constantly through the Play; but the inferiour Parts seldom above once in the whole Tragedy. The Conduct of our Stage is much more difficult, where we are oblig'd never to lose any considerable Character which we have once presented.’

And a little after—‘Perhaps after all, if we cou'd think so, the ancient Method, as it is easiest is also the most natural, and the best; for Variety as 'tis manag'd, is too often subject to breed Distraction; and while we wou'd please too many Ways, for want of Art in the Conduct we please in none.’

I confess I was not a little puzled on the first Quotation till I met with the second which was as a Comment on the former. Nay I am yet to seek what he means by a Model; he shou'd have desin'd his Term since 'tis plain that he means something different from what we understand by the Formation of the Design, the Constitution of the Subject. The Reader will find that in those Rules, which I have from Aristotle laid down for the Writing and judging of a Tragedy there is no one Rule about the Seldom or often bringing in of the Characters, but that naturally follows the Constitution of the Subject, for it is Certain in Reason and Nature, that none ought to be brought in but such as are necessary to the Design, and only as they are necessary; to do otherwise is contrary to good Conduct, and to Perfection; and if in many of those Plays of the Ancients which remain, what Mr. Dryden has observ'd be true, it is no Rule to him if he forms his Story according to Art, and yet have his under Characters more frequently on the Stage. That each Act of the Ancients consists of about one or two Scenes is a certain Perfection, but in the Laison of Scenes as the French call it, and in their Shortness, which I believe Mr. Dryden meant by their Model being too little for our Stage; for those numerous Scenes brought in by our Poets do not only stretch the Play to an unreasonable Length but generally breeds a Confusion, and have no Connection to one another. So that this shows Mr. Dryden's Error in making a Distinction betwixt the Perfection of the Athenian Stage and that of London, in the same numerical sort of Poem, in which there can be but one Perfection, and either Athens or London,

must be in the Wrong, but I have already prov'd Athens in the Right, so that what Mr. Dryden urges for a different Perfection on our Stage, only proves a Defect and ought therefore to be rejected, as he indeed in the End seems to confess, but lays his adhering to the Error on the Tyranny of Custom, which Men of his Authority, may and ought to break and reform

And that Shortness which he Objects to the Ancients is what we often wish for in our modern Authors, when they tire us with their tedious Scenes for four Hours together, without ever engaging our Souls at all. And the Chorus was a more natural Relief, than comic Interludes, or the Music betwixt the Acts. That our Stage does not require a larger Compass to build on is plain from the Orphan of Otway, which still pleases and ever will, and yet for the most Part according to the Model of the Ancients, and without any under Plot; the Episodes of it being entirely Parts of the Design, and not to be left out without maiming the whole. Whence it is plain that it is not the Fault of the Audience, but the Impotence or Ignorance of the Poet, who is not able (tho' he calls this Way the most easie (to travel in so smooth and pleasant a Way.

But this Controversy betwixt the Ancients and the Moderns is so copious and large to be throughly discuss'd in this Point, it has engag'd Boileau and Mr. Perault in France, and Mr. Wotton, and Sir William Temple in our own Country; but I think

a middle Course ought to be steer'd, there are things in which they have evidently excell'd us, and to imitate which is counted now the highest Perfection; as in Statuary, and the best Painters have made it their Study to imitate the Antique. The same must be said in Oratory and Poetry especiall in the Tragic Poem, in which we have by no Means yet been able to rival them. We have had some Poets who have happily describ'd some things finely, and given us many pretty and fine Reflections and Topics, but there is no Order, no Decorum, no Harmony of Design, nay no Relation of the Parts to each other but as Horace says

They can patch a lame Plot with some fine Lines some pretty Similes; can make a fine Description of a Battle, of a Grove, or the like, but all these thrust into their wrong Places, where they have not the least to do. And these are the Men who exclaim against the Rules, and by a senseless Noise set up for Patrons of Confusion, and Enemies to Harmony and Order, as if any one should prefer the rambling Prelude of a Performer (who by the Way seldom knows any thing of the Composition) to the fine Sonata's of Corelli or the admirable Composition and Harmony of Parts in a Piece of Henry Purcel. One is only a Proof of the Volubility of the Performers Fingers, the other the Power of Music, that moves the Soul which way it pleases.

But there may be some tolerable Reason given why these Poets, that have even those Skantlings of Poetry, shoud surprise the Town into an Admiration of their Performances, as our Shakespeare, and Mr. Dryden in his Plays; but the Success of some since them is wholly unaccountable, who are fully as faulty in their Plots or Designs, and yet have scarce one Line in a Play that discovers any Reflection.

Among these are our Lady Poets, who like Juno in the Production of Vulcan are always delivered of Cripples. I beg the Ladies Pardon I do not exclude them from all Manner of Poetry; they have in all Ages succeeded in the lesser Poesie, but no Woman of any other Nation, that I know of except England, ever pretended to meddle with the Drama. Magalostrate the Mistress of Alcman the Lyric Poet. Sappho one of whose Poems is still extant, and whose Writings were admired by Longinus himself, she wrote Elegies, Epigrams, Monodes and Iambics; and her Friend Erinna, and her contemporary Demophila. Theano the Wife of Pythagoras. Cleobalina who wrote Enigma's. Corinna who was Mistress of so much Excellence, and so good a Lyric Poet, that she was call'd the Lyric Muse, and had five times the Victory over the famous Pindar of Thebes. Telesilla, Praxilla, Aspasia, a second Erinna, Myro, Eudosia, the Wife of Theodosius the younger; Damocharis, Hestica of Alexandria, Moeio, Nossis a Lyric Poetess, some of whose Poems are yet extant; Philœnis. All these we have had from Greece, and not one of them attempted the Drama. Now for the Latins who are but very few. Corinficia whose Epigrams are still extant; Sempronia, Theophila, the Wife of Canius the Poet. Proba, Roswid a Nun, who writing in Latin Verse is put among the Latin

Poets. But in England we have had almost as many Ladies in the Soch and Buskin as Men. But to these I wou'd address what Plato has made Sophocles and Euripides say to a young Poet, who thus speaks to them. I can make Verses tolerably well, and I know how in my Descriptions to extend a mean Subject, and contract a great one; I know how to excite Terror and Compassion, and to make pitiful Things appear dreadful and menacing. I will, therefore, go and write Tragedies. Sophocles and Euripides answer him thus. Do not go so fast, Tragedy is not what you take it to be; 'tis a Body compos'd of many different and well suited Parts; of which you will make a Monster, unless you know how to adjust them. You may know what is to be learn'd before the Study of The Art of Tragedy, but you don't yet know that Art.

But this ought to be address'd to the Male Writers as well as the Female, for it has been the ill Writing of the former, which gave them the Assurance to attempt, a Thing, in which they cou'd see no Difficulty, while they saw nothing but the wild Compositions of the Times.

But this is a Subject which I have a Design to touch more closely when I shall examine all the taking Plays of the later Years, and deliver a Critick upon them in such a Manner, that the Ladies themselves may judge of the Ridiculousness of those things, which we now call Tragedies. For the Fate of that Point of the Drama depending much on the Boxes, the Labour will not be disagreeable to give them such Demonstrations as may without Difficulty inform their Understandings and Judgments.

Tho' this gradual way of reforming the Stage may be something tedious, yet since there is no other Way to obtain that Happiness, but the Governments having an immediate Inspection of it, or by deputing as many Judges of the Drama as were in Athens, where each of the Ten Tribes chose a Judge, who acted upon Oath; but that can never be done while private Interest has the Direction of a publick Diversion; for that has no Regard to any thing but it self.

I shall here take my Leave of the Plays of Shakespear; and shall proceed to the Consideration of his Poems, which are publish'd in this Edition, and are more perfect in their kind, than his Plays, as will appear by making a Judgment of them by those Rules which I shall lay down as the Guides to Perfection in them.

And Page 31, 32.

On Love and Lust.
Call it not Love for Love to Heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on Earth usurps his Name, &c.

Pag. 33 on the Power of Love.

The next Poem is upon the Rape of Lucrece by Tarquin. I have ventur'd to make this Edition differ from the former, because those few Notes that us'd to be printed with it are very childish and superfluous, and doubtless not design'd to be committed to the Press by the Author; they being only to point out in Prose to the Reader what he has before his Eyes in Verse. This Poem in my Opinion is much inferiour to the former, tho' a much better Subject for a Poem. Lucrece is too talkative and of too wanton a Fancy for one in her Condition and and of her Temper, yet there are many good Lines, some very good Topics, tho' a little too far spread as those of Night, Opportunity, and Time, Pag. 75.

And pag. 79.

And pag. 80.

These tho' they express a great many Properties and Effects of the Topics, are yet too curious and too long to entertain a Lady in so desperate a Condition as Lucrece was; and the same will hold good of several things before she gives herself the fatal Wound.

There are some other common Places in this Poem worth minding as p. 55. of the Avaritious, tho' brought in by Way of Simile

Those that much covet are of Gain so fond
That oft they have not what which they posses, &c.

Which is the Sense of this Latin Saying, Tam deest Avaro quod habet, quam quod non habet. And p. 78 of the same Subject.

Pag. 70 are two Verses very like this of Claudian.

I urge not this to charge him with Plagtarism, but only to shew, that if the Similitude of Thought may be a Proof of his having read the Classics, as well as the finding no such, an Argument that he had not, these and various other Instances, which I might give from both his Poems and Plays wou'd prove that he was not so unacquainted with them, as some Gentleman wou'd perswade us. There are in this Poem as well as in the former a great many fine Similes.

There is besides in this Poem I think a Proof of his knowing Virgil, for he has, p. 99. painted Sinon, as Virgil, has done before him. I do not mean totidem Verbis, but has given him the same Character, and so plainly, that this is visibly taken from that.

All that I have to say of the Miscellaneous Poems is, that they are generally Epigrams, and those perfect in their kind according to the best Rules that have been drawn from the Practice of

the Ancients, by Scaliger, Lillius Giraldus, Minturnus, Robertellus, Correas, Possovinus, Pontatrus Raderus, Donatus, Vossius and Vavasser the Jesuit, at least as far as they agree, but it is not to be suppos'd, that I should give you here all, that has been said of this sort of Poesie by all these Authors, for that wou'd it self make a Book in Folio, I shall therefore here only give you some concise Rules for this and some other Parts of the lesser Poetry, on which Shakespear has touch'd in these Poems; for he has something Pastoral in some, Elegaic in others, Lyric in others, and Epigrammatic in most. And when the general Heads of Art are put down in all these, it will be no hard Matter to form a right Judgment on the several Performances.

I shall begin with those excellent Rules in the present Duke of Buckingham's Essay on Poetry, of which he says justly.

It self unseen, yet all things by it shown;
Describing all Men, but describ'd by none.
As all is Dulness, where the Fancy's bad,
So without Judgment Fancy is but mad.
And Judgement has a boundless Influence,
Not only in the Choice of Words, but Sense.
But on the World, on Manners, and on Men,
Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen;
Reason is that substantial useful Part
Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.
First then of Songs, which now so much abound
Without his Song no Fop is to be found;
A most offensive Weapon, which he draws
On all he meets, against Apollo's Laws.
Tho' nothing seems more easy, yet no Part
Of Poetry requires a Nicer Art.
For as in Rows of richest Pearl there lies
Many a Blemish, which escapes our Eyes,
The least of which Defects is plainly shown
In some small Ring, and brings the Value down;
So Songs shou'd be to just Perfection wrought.
Yet where can we see one without a Fault?
Exact Propriety of Words and Thought.
Expression easie, and the Fancy high,
Yet that not seen to creep, nor that to fly;
No Words transpos'd but in such Order all,
As tho' hard wrought may seem by Chance to fall.
Next Elegy of sweet but solemn Voice,
And of a Subject grave exacts the Choice
The Praise of Valour, Beauty, Wit contains,
And there too oft despairing Love complains.
Their greatest Fault who in this kind have writ,
Is not defect of Words, or want of Wit.