As the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish-
Scraps, out of every dish

Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub,
May keep up the Play-club:
There, sweepings do as well
As the best-order'd meal;
For who the relish of these guests will fit,
Needs set them but the alms-basket of wit.

And much good do't you then :
Brave plush and velvet-men,

Can feed on orts; and, safe in your stage-clothes,
Dare quit, upon your oaths,

The stagers and the stage-wrights too, your peers,
Of larding your large ears
With their foul comic socks,
Wrought upon twenty blocks;

Which if they are torn, and turn'd, and patch'd

enough,

The gamesters share your gilt, and you their stuff.

Leave things so prostitute,

And take the Alcaic lute;

Or thine own Horace, or Anacreon's lyre;
Warm thee by Pindar's fire:

And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold Ere years have made thee old,

Strike that disdainful heat,
Throughout, to their defeat,

As curious fools, and envious of thy strain,
May, blushing, swear no palsy's in thy brain.

But when they hear thee sing
The glories of thy king,

His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men:
They may, blood-shaken then,
Feel such a flesh-quake to possess their
As they shall cry, "Like ours,

powers

In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign;
And raising Charles his chariot 'bove his Wain." "

In sound of peace or wars,

No harp e'er hit the stars,

2 This "strain of defiance," which is both vigorous and poetical, was not heard without impatience by some of the minor critics of the day, who took offence at its "arrogance," and retorted on the poet with more justice (it must be said) than humanity. The only piece on the subject, which is come down to us, is a kind of parody of the style and measure of the ode, by Owen Feltham, the author of the Resolves.

Several of the first scholars of the time amused themselves with putting this ode into Latin verse. There is a translation by Randolph; and another by W. Strode, whom Oldys, in his MS. notes to Langbaine, calls, how correctly I know not, "the University Orator of Cambridge," is now before me, in the hand-writing of sir Kenelm Digby. The reader may take the two last stanzas as specimens of its latinity.

Hæc conamina prostituta mitte,
Alcæumque manu resume plectrum,
Anacreonta, tuum Flaccum, simul igne calescas
Pindarica musæ :

Sanguine stent quassi, carnis tremor occupet artus,
Quod lyra sic nulla

Seu pacem resonat, vel arma clangat,
Vere sidera perforare posset,

Quando gesta legent Caroli, currumque videbunt
Alterius Caroli plaustrum superare triumpho.

E E

AN ANSWER TO THE ODE,
Come leave the loathed Stage, &c.
(BY OWEN FELTHAM.)

COME leave this saucy way
Of baiting those that pay

Dear for the sight of your declining wit :
'Tis known it is not fit,

That a sale poet, just contempt once thrown,
Should cry up thus his own.
I wonder by what dower,
Or patent, you had power

From all to rape a judgment. Let 't suffice,
Had you been modest, you'd been granted wise.

'Tis known you can do well,
And that you do excell,

As a Translator: But when things require
A genius, and fire,

Not kindled heretofore by others pains;
As oft you've wanted brains
And art to strike the white,
As you have levell'd right:
Yet if men vouch not things apocryphal,

You bellow, rave, and spatter round your gall.

Jug, Pierce, Peck, Fly, and all
Your jests so nominal,

Are things so far beneath an able brain,
As they do throw a stain

Through all th' unlikely plot, and do displease As deep as Pericles,

Where, yet, there is not laid
Before a chambermaid

Discourse so weigh'd as might have serv'd of old For schools, when they of love and valour told.

Why rage then! when the show
Should judgment be and know-
ledge, there are in plush who scorn to drudge
For stages, yet can judge
Not only poets looser lines, but wits,
And all their perquisits,
A gift as rich, as high
Is noble poesie :

Yet though in sport it be for kings a play,
Tis next mechanics, when it works for pay.

Alcæus lute had none,
Nor loose Anacreon

Ere taught so bold assuming of the bays,
When they deserv'd no praise.
To rail men into approbation,

Is new to yours alone;
And prospers not for know,
Fame is as coy, as you

Can be disdainful; and who dares to prove
A rape on her, shall gather scorn, not love.

Leave then this humour vain,
And this more humorous strain,

Where self-conceit, and choler of the blood
Eclipse what else is good :

Then if you please those raptures high to touch,
Whereof you boast so much;

And but forbear your crown,

Till the world puts it on:

No doubt from all you may amazement draw,
Since braver theme no Phoebus ever saw.

3 Whalley speaks somewhat slightly of Feltham: but his parody appears to me to have a considerable degree of merit, and its good sense and pertinacity cannot be denied. A little more mercy to the sick and sorrowful state of the declining poet would not have

AN ANSWER TO BEN JONSON'S ODE,
to persuade him not to leave the Stage.
(By T. RANDOLPH.)

DEN, do not leave the stage,
'Cause 'tis a loathsome age:
For pride and impudence will grow too bold,
When they shall hear it told

They frighted thee; stand high as is thy cause,
Their hiss is thy applause:
More just were thy disdain,
Had they approved thy vein:

So thou for them, and they for thee were born,
They to incense, and thou as much to scorn.

Will't thou engross thy store
Of wheat, and pour no more,

Because their bacon-brains have such a taste,
As more delight in mast:

No! set them forth a board of dainties, full
As thy best Muse can cull;

been discreditable to him: but the times were savage, and unfeeling, and Feltham found a ready apology for his severity in the authorized language of controversy, and crimination. It does not appear that he entertained any personal hostility against Jonson, as his name is found among those who lamented his death;-unless we apply to him the trite observation,

Extinctus amabitur, &c.

Jonson, however, was not abandoned to his enemies. Randolph Carew (a poet whose merits are not sufficiently understood,) Cleveland, and many others came forward in his defence, and strove to temper and compose his irritated feelings. Randolph's Ode, which, like Feltham's, is a kind of parody upon the original, is too severe on the public, and somewhat too complimentary to the discarded play: Carew's little poem is at once kind and critical, and will be read with pleasure.