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(Unwilling now to grow,) Looks like the plume a captain wears,, Whose rifled falls are steept i'th' tears. Which from his last

rage

flow

III.
The piteous river wept itself away,
Long since (alas !) to such a swift decay,

That reach the map, and look
If you a river there can spy :
And, for a river, your mock'd eye.
Will find a shallow brooke.

W. DAVENANT CHANGCHAMBERANE etagets

గాలి. , On the Effigies of SHAKESPEARE,

prefix'd to his printed Works.
HIS.figure, that thou here seeft put,

It was for gentle Sbakespeare cut;
Wherein the graver had a strife
With nature, to out-doo the life:
O, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he hath hit
FHis face; the print would then surpasse.
All, that was ever writ in braffe.
But, fince he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.

THE

B. Ja,

To the Memory of my Beloved, the Author,., Mr. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE;

And what he hath left us.

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Odraw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name.

Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame :
While I confess thy writings to be such,
As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much.

'Tis true, and all mens suffrage. But these wayt
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise :
For feeliest ignorance on these may light,
Which, when it sounds at best, but echies right;
Or blind, affe&tion; which doth ne'er advance
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ;
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin, where it seem'd to rise.
These are, as some infamoas bawd, or whore,
Should praise a matron. What could hurt her more?
But thou art proof against them, and, indeed,
Above th’ ill fortune of them, or the need.
I therefore will begin.-Soul of the age !
Th’applause! delight! the wonder of our fage!
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer

, or spenfer, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room ::
Thou art a monument without a tomb.
And art alive itill, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and.praise to give. .
That I not mix thee fo, my brain excuses ;
I.mean with

great, but disproportion's mules:
For if I thought my judgment were of years,
I. should commit thee, fuiely, with thy piers:
And tell how far thou didit our Lilly out-thine,
Or sporting Kid, or Marlow's mighty line.
And though thou had it small Latin and less Greeką.
From thence to honour thee, I would not seek
For names; but cail forth thund'ring Alebylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To live again, to hear thy. Bufhin tread,
And shake

a sage: Or, when thy socks were ong,
Leave tbee alone for the comparison
Of all, that infolent Greece, or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or fince did from their alhes come.
Triumph, my Britain! thou hast one to town,
To whom all jeenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the mufes ftill were in their prime,

Wheny

When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm.
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joy!d to wear the dressing of his lines :
Which were so richly spun, and wove so fit
As, fince, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty, Plautus, now not please ; +
But antiquated, and deserted lie,
As they were not of nature's family.
Yet must I not give nature all : Thy art,
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a.part.
For though the Poet's matter nature bę,
His art doth give the fashion : And, that hey,
Who casts to write a living line, muft Sweat
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat :
Upon the muses anvile ; turn the same,
(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame,
Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn;
For a good Poet's made, as well as born.
And such wert thou. Look how the father's faces
Lives in his iffue, even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines...
In his well-torned, and true-filed lines :
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandish'd at the

eyes

of ignorance.
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a fight it were -
To see thee in our water yet appearo.
And make those flights upon the banks of Thames,
That so did take Eliza and our James !.
But ftay, I fee thee in the hemisphere.
Advanc'd, and made a constellatton there!
Shine forth, thou fiarre of Port's! and with..

2.rage, Or influence, chide, or chear, the drooping frage: Which, fince thy flight from hence, bath, mouin'd like

night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.

BEN JOHNSON

THE

THE

PRE FACE.

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\HE attempt to write upon SHAKE

SPEARE is like going into a large, a

{pacious, and a splendid dome, through the conveyance of a narrow, and obscure entry. A glare of light suddenly breaks upon you beyond what the avenue at first promised: and a. thousand beauties of genius and character, like.

many gaudy, apartments pouring at once upon the eyes,

diffufe and throw themselves out to the mind. The prospect is too wide to come within the compass of a single view: 'tis a gay confusion of pleasing objects, too various to be enjoyed but. in a general admiration; and they must be feparated, and eyed distinctly, in order to give the proper entertainment.

And as in great piles of building, fome parts are often finished up to hit the taste of the come, noisseur ; others more negligently put together, to

Strike:

#rike the fancy of a common and unlearned Bea. holder: Some parts are made ftupendously magnificent and grand, to surprize with the vast defign and execution of the architect; others are con-tracted, to amuse you with his neatness and elegance in little. Sc, in Shakespeare, we may find Traits that will stand the test of the severest judge ment; and strokes as carelessly hit off, to the level of the more ordinary capacities: Some de-scriptions raised to that pitch of grandeur, as.to astonish you with the compass and elevation of his thought: and others copying nature within fo narrow, so confined a circle, as if the author's. talent lay only at drawing in miniature:

In how many points of light muft- we be obliged to gaze at this great poet! In how many branches of excellence to consider, and admire him! Whether we view him on the side of art or nature, he ought equally to engage our attention: Whether we respect the force and greatness of his genius, the extent of his knowledge and reading, the power and address with which, he throws out and applies either nature, or learning, there is ample scope both for our wonder and pleasure. If his diction, and the cloathing of his thoughts attract us, how much more must. we be charmed with the richness, and variety, of his images and ideas ! If his images and ideas steal: into our Souls, and strike upon our fancy, how much are they improved in price, when we conze

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