COMMENDATORY VERSES.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MASTER GEORGE SANDYS, ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS.

I

[1638.]

PRESS not to the Choir, nor dare I greet
The holy Place with my unhallow'd feet;
My unwash'd Muse pollutes not things divine,
Nor mingles her profaner notes with thine;
Here list'ning humbly at the Porch she stays,
And with glad ears sucks in thy Sacred Lays.
So devout Penitents of old were wont
Some without door, and some beneath the Font,
To stand and hear the Church's Liturgies,
Yet not assist the Solemn Exercise.

Sufficeth her, that she a Lay-place gain,

To trim thy vestments, or but bear thy train;
Though nor in tune nor wing she reach thy Lark,
Her lyric feet may dance before the Ark.

Who knows, but that her wand'ring eyes, that run
Now hunting Glow-worms, may adore the Sun;
flame may, shot by Almighty Power
Into my breast, the earthy flame devour?

A pure

My eyes in penitential dew may steep

That brine, which they for sensual love did weep. So, tho' 'gainst Nature's course, fire may be quench'd With fire, and water be with water drench'd,

Perhaps my restless Soul, tired with pursuit
Of mortal beauty, seeking without fruit

Contentment there-which hath not, when enjoy'd,
Quench'd all her thirst, nor satisfied, though cloy'd:
Weary of her vain search below, above

In the first Fair may find th' immortal Love.

Prompted by thy example then, no more

In moulds of clay will I my GOD adore ;
But tear those Idols from my heart, and write
What his blest Spirit, not fond Love, shall indite.
Then I no more shall court the verdant Bay,
But the dry leafless trunk on Golgotha :

And rather strive to gain from thence one Thorn,
Than all the flourishing Wreaths by Laureats worn.

TO MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, Henry, Lord Carey,
OF LEPPINGTON ON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI.

[ROMULUS AND TARQUIN, 1638.]

MY LORD. In every trivial work, 'tis known,

Translators must be masters of their own

And of their Author's language; but your task
A greater latitude of skill did ask;

For your Malvezzi first required a man

To teach him speak vulgar Italian.

His matter's so sublime, so now his phrase
So far above the style of Bembo's days,

L'Ercolano.] Old Varchi's rules, or what the Crusca yet
For current Tuscan mintage will admit:
As I believe your Marquess, by a good
Part of his natives, hardly understood.

You must expect no happier fate; 'tis true,
He is of noble birth; of nobler you :

So nor your thoughts nor words fit common ears :
He writes, and you translate, both to your Peers.

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND, MASTER THOMAS MAY:

UPON HIS COMEDY THE HEIR.' [1633.]

"THE

`HE HEIR' being born, was in his tender age
Rock'd in the Cradle of a Private Stage;
Where, lifted up by many a willing hand,
The Child did from the first day fairly stand;
Since, having gather'd strength, he dares prefer
His steps into the public Theatre,

The World where he despairs not but to find
A doom from men more able, not less kind.
I but his Usher am, yet if my word

May pass, I dare be bound he will afford

Things must deserve a welcome, if well known,
Such as best writers would have wish'd their own.

You shall observe his words in order meet,
And softly stealing on with equal feet,
Slide into even numbers with such grace
As each word had been moulded for that place.
You shall perceive an amorous passion spun
Into so smooth a web, as, had the Sun
When he pursued the swiftly flying Maid,
Courted her in such language, she had stay'd.

A love so well express'd must be the same
The Author felt himself from his fair flame.

The whole Plot doth alike itself disclose
Through the five Acts, as doth the Lock that goes
With letters: for, till every one be known,
The Lock's as fast as if you had found none :
And where his sportive Muse doth draw a thread
Of mirth, chaste Matrons may not blush to read.

Thus have I thought it fitter to reveal
My want of art, dear Friend, than to conceal
My love. It did appear I did not mean

So to commend thy well wrought Comic Scene,

[Daphne.

As men might judge my aim rather to be
To gain praise to my self, than give it thee:

Though I can give thee none but what thou hast
Deserv'd, and what must my faint breath out-last.
Yet was this garment (though I skill-less be
To take thy measure), only made for thee;

And if it prove too scant, 'tis 'cause the stuff
Nature allow'd me is not large enough.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER D'AVENANT,

UPON HIS EXCELLENT PLAY, THE JUST ITALIAN.' [1630.]

'LL not mis-spend in praise the narrow room

I'LL

I borrow in this lease; the Garlands bloom From thine own seeds, that crown each glorious page Of thy triumphant works; the sullen Age Requires a Satire. What star guides the soul Of these our froward times, that dare controul, Yet dare not learn to judge? When did'st thou fly From hence, clear candid Ingenuity?

I have beheld when, perch'd on the smooth brow Of a fair modest troop, thou did'st allow Applause to slighter works; but then the weak Spectator gave the knowing leave to speak.

Now noise prevails, and he is tax'd for drouth
Of wit, that with 'the cry' spends not his mouth.
Yet ask him reason why he did not like ?—
Him, why he did? their ignorance will strike
Thy soul with scorn and pity. Mark the places
Provoke their smiles, frowns, or distorted faces;
When they admire, nod, shake the head :-they'll be
A scene of mirth, a double comedy.

But thy strong fancies (raptures of the brain,
Dress'd in poetic flames,) they entertain

As a bold impious reach; for they'll still slight
All that exceeds Red-Bull and Cock-pit flight.

These are the men in crowded heap that throng To that adulterate Stage, where not a tongue Of th' untuned Kennel can a line repeat Of serious sense; but like-lips meet like-meat : Whilst the true brood of Actors, that alone Keep natural unstrain'd action in her throne, Behold their benches bare, though they rehearse The terser Beaumont's or great Jonson's verse.

Repine not thou, then, since this churlish fate Rules not the Stage alone; perhaps the State Hath felt this rancour, where men great and good Have by the Rabble been misunderstood.

So was thy Play, whose clear yet lofty strain
Wise men, that
govern Fate, shall entertain.

TO THE READER OF MASTER WILLIAM DAVENANT'S PLAY. ['THE WITS, A COMEDY.' 1636.]

T hath been said of old, that Plays be Feasts,

IT

Poets the cooks, and the Spectators guests;

The Actors, waiters. From this simile

Some have derived an unsafe liberty,

To use their judgments as their tastes, which choose
Without controul this dish, and that refuse.
But Wit allows not this large privilege :
Either you must confess, or feel its edge.
Nor shall you make a current inference,
you transfer your reason to your sense :

If

Things are distinct, and must the same appear
To every piercing eye or well-tuned ear.

Tho' sweets with yours, sharps best with my taste meet;
Both must agree this meat's or sharp or sweet:
But if I scent a stench or a perfume,

Whilst you smell nought at all, I may presume
You have that sense imperfect: So you may
Affect a sad, merry, or humourous Play;