As the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish— every dish Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub, There, sweepings do as well For who the relish of these guests will fit, 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, With their foul comic socks, 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; And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold Strike that disdainful heat, Throughout, to their defeat, As curious fools, and envious of thy strain, But when they hear thee sing His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men: Feel such a flesh-quake to possess their powers In sound of peace or wars, In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign; 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, Anacreonta, tuum Flaccum, simul igne calescas Contractusque licet nervis, et sanguine lentus, Indignante lyra cie calorem: Sic tenta modulos ubique Victor, At quando audierint lyræ accinentem Quâ pietate Deum, quâ majestate popellum Sanguine stent quassi, carnis tremor occupet artus, Seu pacem resonat, vel arma clangat, Quando gesta legent Caroli, currumque videbunt AN ANSWER TO THE ODE, Come leave the loathed Stage, &c. (BY OWEN FELTHAM.) COME leave this saucy way That a sale poet, just contempt once thrown, I wonder by what dower, Or patent, you had power From all to rape a judgment. Let 't suffice, 'Tis known you can do well, As a Translator: But when things require Not kindled heretofore by others pains; And art to strike the white, As you have levell'd right: Yet if men vouch not things apocryphal, 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 ledge, there are in plush who scorn to drudge 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, Nor loose Anacreon Ere taught so bold assuming of the bays, 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 Where self-conceit, and choler of the blood Then if you please those raptures high to touch, And but forbear your crown, Till the world puts it on: No doubt from all you may amazement draw, 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.) EN, do not leave the stage, 'Cause 'tis a loathsome age: For pride and impudence will grow too bold, They frighted thee; stand high as is thy cause, More just were thy disdain, Had they approved thy vein: So thou for them, and they for thee were born, Will't thou engross thy store Of wheat, and pour no more, Because their bacon-brains have such a taste, No! set them forth a board of dainties, full 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. |