« EdellinenJatka »
UNDERNEATH this stone doth lie
As much virtue as could die;
Which when alive did vigour give
To as much beauty as could live.
On the COUNTESS DOWAGER of PEMBROKE.
UNDERNEATH this marble hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother:
Death, ere thou hast ta'en another,
Fair and learn'd, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
NOBLES and Heralds, by your leave
Here* lie the bones of Matthew Prior; The son of Adam and of Eve,
Can Stuart or Nassau claim higher?
Under MILTON'S PICTURE, before his PARADISE LOST. (DRYDEN.)
THREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd;
The next, in majesty; in both the last.
The pow'r of Nature could no further go;
To make a third, she join'd the former two.
BELOW this marble monument is laid
All that Heav'n wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred Tomb! thy trust consign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind;
And she would lose, if at the latter day
One atom could be mix'd, of other clay.
Alluding to Westminster Abbey.
Such were the features of her heav'nly face,
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace,
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the Soul,
Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd,
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd;
Or like the Sun eclips'd, with shaded light,
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.
Each thought was visible, that roll'd within;
As, through a crystal glass, the figur'd hours are seen.
And Heav'n did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-Saint, she sought the skies;
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dies.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind,
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of Heav'n below,
That, when arriv'd, she scarce had more to know;
But only to refresh the former hint,
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, as she had no time to spare
For human thoughts, but was confin'd to pray'r;
Yet in such charities she pass'd the day,
'Twas wond'rous how she found an hour to pray.
A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows,
Which passion could but curl, not discompose.
A female softness, with a manly mind;
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind;
In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.
MADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes;
Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho' witty, wise;
Polite, as all her life in Courts had been;
Yet good, as she the world had never seen;
The noble fire of an exalted mind,
With gentle female tenderness combin'd.
Her Speech was the melodious voice of Love,
Her Song the warbling of the vernal Grove;
Her Eloquence was sweeter than her song,
Soft as her Heart, and as her Reason strong;
Her form each beauty of her mind express'd,
Her mind was Virtue by the Graces dress'd.
The Two BEAVERS: A FABLE.
'TWERE well, my friend, for human kind,
Would every man his bus'ness mind;
In his own orbit always move,
Nor blame, nor envy those above.
A Beaver, well advanc'd in age,
By long experience render'd sage,
Was skill'd in all the useful arts,
And justly deem'd a beast of parts;
Which he apply'd (as patriots shou'd)
In cultivating Public Good.
This Beaver, on a certain day, A friendly visit went to pay To a young Cousin, pert and vain, Who often rov'd about the plain; With every idle beast conferr'd, Hearing, and telling what he heard. The vagrant youth was gone from home, When th' ancient Sage approach'd the dome; Who each apartment view'd with care, But found each wanted much repair; The walls were crack'd, decay'd the doors, The corn lay mouldy on the floors; Thro' gaping crannies rush'd amain The blust'ring winds with snow and rain; The timber all was rotten grownIn short the house was tumbling down. The gen'rous beast, by pity sway'd, Griev'd to behold it thus decay'd; And while he mourn'd the tatter'd scene, The master of the lodge came in.
The first congratulations o'er,
They rest recumbent on the floor;
When thus the young conceited beast
His thoughts impertinent express'd.
I long have been surpriz'd to find
The Lion grown so wond'rous kind
To one peculiar sort of beasts,
While he another sort detests;
His royal favour chiefly falls
Upon the species of Jackals;
They share the profits of his throne,
He smiles on them, and them alone.
Meanwhile the Ferrets useful race
He scarce admits to see his face;
Traduc'd by lies and ill report,
They're banish'd from his regal Court,
And counted, over all the plain,
Opposers of the Lion's reign.
Now I conceiv'd a scheme last night,
Would doubtless set this matter right:
These parties should unite together;
The Lion partial be to neither,
But let them both his favours share,
And both consult in peace and war.
This method (were this method try'd)
Would spread politic basis wide,
And, on a bottom broad and strong,
Support the social union long-
But uncle, uncle, much I fear,
Some have abus'd the Lion's ear;
He listens to the Leopard's tongue;
That cursed Leopard leads him wrong :
Were he but banish'd far away-
You don't attend to what I say!
Why really, Coz, the Sage rejoin'd,
The rain and snow, and driving wind,
Beat through with such prodigious force,
It made me deaf to your discourse.
Now, Coz, were my advice pursu'd,
(And sure I mean it for your good)
Methinks you should this house repair;
Be this your first and chiefest care.
Your skill the voice of prudence calls
To stop these crannies in the walls,
And prop the roof before it falls.
If you this needful task perform,
You'll make your mansion dry and warm;
And we may then converse together,
Secure from this tempestuous weather.
NORTH. YEA, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, foretels the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
MORT. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest maskt
To fright our party.
NORTH. How doth my son and brother ?Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-be-gone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue; And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. This thou would'st say: Your son did thus and thus: Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas : Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds. But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Ending with Brother, son, and all are dead!
MORT. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; But for my lord, your son
NORTH. Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, speak;
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ;.`
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
MORT. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
NORTH. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: .. Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so :› The tongue offends not that reports his death: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead, Not he which says the dead is not, alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue) Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd, tolling a departed friend.