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Show An EPISTLE to Our Poets only prattle on the Pit, With-florid Lines, and trifling Turn: of Wit. Howc'cr 'tis well the prefent Times c m boaft, T6eRace of CHARLES'* Reign not wholly loft: jhy Scenes, immortal in their Worth, Hiall ftand mong the chofen CiaiTics of our Land: And whilft our Sons are by Tradition taught, H o w Barry fpoke what Thou and Otway wrote, They'll think it Praife to relifh, and repeat, And o w n Thy Works inimitably Great. Shakefpear, the Genius of our Ifle, whofe Mind (The univerfal Mirror of Mankind,) Exprefs'd all Images, enrich'd the Stage, But fometimes ftoop'd to pleafe a barb'rous Agd W h e n his Immortal Bays began to grow, Rude was the Language, and the H u m o u r Low. He, like the G o d of Day, was always bright, Yet rolling in its Courfe, his Orb of Light W a s fully'd, and obfcur'd, thoJ foaring high, "With Spots contracted from the nether Sky. But whither is th' advent'rous Mufe betray'd ? Forgive her Rafknefs, venerable Shade! M a y Spring with Purple Flow'rs perfume thy Urn,' A n d Avon with his Greens thy Grave adorn. Be all thy Faults, whatever Faults there be, Imputed to the Times, and not to Thee. Some Scions (hot froip this immortal Root, Their Tops much lower, and lefs fair the Fruit. John/on the Tribute of m y Verfe might claim* Had he not ftrove to blemilh Shakefpear's Name. Mt.SOVTHERNE. !ut, like the radiant Twins that gild the Sphere, letcher and Beaumont next in P o m p appear: The firft a fruithful Vine, in bloomy Pride, Had been by Superfluity deftroy'd j But that his Friend, judicioufly fevere, Prun'd the luxuriant Boughs*with artful Care: On various-founding Harps the Mufes play'd, And fung, and quaff'd their Neftar in the Shade. Few Moderns in the Lifts with thefe may ftand, for in thofe Days were Giants in the Land : Suffice it n o w by Lineal Right to claim, And bow with Filial A w e to Shake/pear's Fame, The fecond Honours are a glorious Name. Achilles dead, they found no equal Lord, To wear his Armour, and to wield his Sword. An Age moft odious and accurs'd enfu'd, Hfcoloui'd with a Pious Monarch's Blood: Whofe Fall when firft the Tragick Virgin faw, "•he fled, and left her Province to the Law. >er merry: Sifter Ml purfu'd the Game, !er Garb was alter'd, but her Gifts the fame. ^ie firft Reform'd the Mufcles of her Face, ' tnd learnt the folemn Scrue, for Signs of Grace- Then Circumcis'd her Locks, and form'd her Tone ly humming to a Tabor, and a Drone: er Eyes She difciplin'd precifely Right, )th when to wink, and h o w to turn the White-pus baninYd from the Stage, She gravely next ' um'd a Cloak, and quibled o'er a Text • 3 |
