Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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B14293
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Ionsonus virbius: or, The memorie of Ben: Iohnson revived by the friends of the Muses
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Duppa, Brian, 1588-1662.
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1638
(1638)
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STC 14784; ESTC S107894
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29,237
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91
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subtle wayes what friends Seeking their wicked and their wisht for ends Ambitious and luxurious Persons prove Whom vast desires or mighty wants doth move The generall Frame to say and undermine In proud Sejanus and bold Cateline So in his vigilant Prince and Consuls parts He shewes the wiser and the nobler Arts By which a state may be unhurt upheld And all those workes destroy'd which hell would build Who not like those who with small praise had writ Had they not cal'd in Iudgement to their Wit Vs'd not a tutoring hand his to direct But was sole Workeman and sole Architect And sure by what my Friend did daily tell If he but acted his owne part as well As he writ those of others he may boast The happy fields hold not a happier ghost Hyl. Strangers will thinke this strange yet he deare Youth Where most he past beleefe fell short of Truth Say on what more he said this gives reliefe And though it raise my cause it bates my griefe Since Fates decreed him now no longer liv'd I joy to heare him by thy Friend reviv'd Mel. More he would say and better but I spoile His smoother words with my unpolisht stile And having told what pitch his worth attain'd He then would tell us what Reward it gain'd How in an ignorant and learn'd age he swaid Of which the first he found the second made How He when he could know it reapt his Fame And long out-liv'd the envy of his Name To him how daily flockt what reverence gave All that had wit or would be thought to have Or hope to gaine and in so large a store That to his Ashes they can pay no more Except those few who censuring thought not so But aim'd at glory from so great a foe How the wise too did with meere wits agree As Pembroke Portland and grave Aubigny Nor thought the rigidst Senator a shame To contribute to so deserv'd a fame How great Eliza the Retreate of those Who weake and injur'd her protection chose Her Subjects joy the strength of her Allies The feare and wonder of her Enemies With her judicious favours did infuse Courage and strength into his yonger Muse How learned JAMES whose praise no end shall finde But still enjoy a Fame pure like his Mind Who favour'd quiet and the Arts of Peace Which in his Halcion dayes found large encrease Friend to the humblest if deserving Swaine Who was himselfe a part of Phaebus Traine Declar'd great JOHNSON worthiest to receive The Garland which the Muses hands did weave And though his Bounty did sustaine his dayes Gave a more welcome Pension in his praise How mighty Charles amidst that Weighty care In which three Kingdomes as their Blessing share Whom as it tends with ever watchfull eyes That neither Power may force nor Art surprise So bounded by no shore graspes all the Maine And farre as Neptune claimes extends his reigne Found still some Time to heare and to admire The happy sounds of his Harmonious Lire And oft hath left his bright exalted Throne And to his Muses feet combin'd His owne In his Maskes As did his Queene whose Person so disclos'd A brighter Nimph then any Part impos'd When she did joyne by an Harmonious choise Her gracefull Motions to his Powerfull voice How above all the rest was Phaebus fir'd With love of Arts which he himselfe inspir'd Nor oftner by his Light our Sence was chear'd Then he in Person to his sight appear'd Nor did he write a line but to supply With sacred Flame the Radiant God was by Hyl. Though none I ever heard this last rehearse I saw as much when I did see his verse Mel. Since He when living could such Honors have What now will Piety pay to his grave Shall of the rich whose lives were low and vile And scarce deserv'd a Grave much lesse a Pile The monuments possesse an ample Roome And such a Wonder lye without a Tombe Raise thou him one in Verse and There relate His Worth thy griefe and our deplored state His great Perfections our great losse recite And let them meerely weepe who cannot write Hyl. I like thy saying but oppose thy choise So great a Taske as this requires a Voice Which must be heard and listned to by all And Fames owne Trumpet but appeares too small Then for my slender Reede to sound his Name Would more my Folly then his praise proclaime And when you wish my weakenesse sing his Worth You charge a Mouse to bring a Mountaine forth I am by Nature form'd by Woes made Dull My Head is emptier then my Heart is full Griefe doth my Braine impaire as Teares supply Which makes my face so moist my Pen so dry Nor should this Work proceed from Woods and Downes But from the Academies Courts and Townes Let Digby Carew Killigrew and Maine Godolphin Waller that inspired Traine Or whose rare Pen beside deserves the grace Or of an equall or a neighbouring Place Answer thy wish for none so fit appeares To raise his Tombe as who are left his Heires Yet for this Cause no labour need be spent Writing his Workes he built his Monument Mel. If to obey in this thy Pen be loth It will not seeme thy weaknesse but thy sloth Our Townes prest by our Foes invading Might Our ancient Druids and young Virgins fight Employing feeble Limbes to the best use So JOHNSON dead no Pen should plead excuse For Elegies howle all who cannot sing For Tombes bring Turfe who cannot Marble bring Let all their forces mix joyne Verse to Rime To save his Fame from that Invader Time Whose Power though his alone may well restraine Yet to so wisht an end no Care is vaine And Time like what our Brookes act in our sight Oft sinkes the neightie and upholds the Light Besides to this thy paines I strive to move Lesse to expresse his glory then thy Love Not long before his Death our woods he meant To visit and descend from Thames to Trent Meete with thy Elegy his Pastorall And rise as much as he vouchsaft to fall Suppose it chance no other Pen doe joine In this Attempt and the whole worke be thine When the fierce fire the rash-Boy kindled raign'd The whole world suffer'd Earth alone complain'd Suppose that many more intend the same More taught by Art and better knowne to Fame To that great Deluge which so farre destroid The Earth her Springs as Heaven his Showrs emploid So may who highest Markes of Honour weares Admit meane Partners in this Flood of Teares So oft the Humblest joine with Loftiest Things Nor onely Princes weep the fate of Kings Hyl. I yeeld I yeeld Thy words my thoughts have fir'd And I am lesse perswaded then inspir'd Speech shall give Sorrow vent and that Releefe The Woods shall eccho all the Citties griefe I oft have verse on meaner Subjects made Should I give Presents and leave Debts unpaid Want of Invention here is no excuse My matter I shall find and not
we owe Those that we have and those that we want too Th' art all so good that reading makes thee worse And to have writ so well's thine onely curse Secure then of thy merit thou didst hate That servile base dependance upon fate Successe thou ne'r thoughtst vertue nor that fit Which chance and th' ages fashion did make hit Excluding those from life in after-time Who into Po'try first brought luck and rime Who thought the peoples breath good ayre sty'ld name What was but noise and getting Briefes for fame Gathered the many's suffrages and thence Made commendation a benevolence Thy thoughts were their owne Lawrell and did win That best applause of being crown'd within And though th' exacting age when deeper yeeres Had interwoven snow among thy haires Would not permit thou shouldst grow old cause they Nere by thy writings knew thee young we may Say justly they 're ungratefull when they more Condemn'd thee cause thou wert so good before Thine Art was thine Arts blurre and they 'll confesse Thy strong perfumes made them not smell thy lesse But though to erre with thee be no small skill And we adore the last draughts of thy Quill Though those thy thoughts which the now queasie age Doth count but clods and refuse of the stage Will come up Porcelaine-wit some hundreds hence VVhen there will be more manners and more sense 'T was judgement yet to yeeld and we afford Thy silence as much fame as once thy word VVho like an aged oake the leaves being gone VVast food before art now religion Thought still more rich though not so richly stor'd View'd and enjoy'd before but now ador'd Great soule of numbers whom we want and boast Like curing gold most valu'd now th' art lost VVhen we shall feed on refuse offalls when VVe shall from corne to akornes turne agen Then shall we see that these two names are one JOHNSON and Poetry which now are gone VV. CARTWAIGHT An Elegy upon BEN IOHNSON NOw thou art dead and thy great wit and name Is got beyond the reach of Chance or Fame Which none can lessen nor we bring enough To raise it higher through our want of stuffe I find no roome for praise but Elegie And there but name the day that thou didst dye That men may know thou didst so for they will Hardly beleeve disease or age could kill A body so inform'd with such a soule As like thy verse might Fate it selfe controule But thou art gon and we like greedy Heires That snatch the fruit of their dead Fathers cares Begin t' enquire what meanes thou left'st behind For us pretended Heires unto thy mind And my-selfe not the latest 'gan to looke And found the Inventory in thy Booke A stock for writers to set up withall That out of thy full Comedies their small And slender wits by vexing much thy writ And their owne braines may draw good saving wit And when they shall upon some credit pitch May be thought well to live although not rich Then for your Songsters Masquers what a deal We have enough to make a Common-weale Of dauncing Courtiers as if Poetry Were made to set out their activity Learning great store for us to feed upon But little fame that with thy selfe is gon And like a desperate debt bequeath'd not paid Before thy death has us the poorer made Whil'st we with mighty labour it pursue And after all our toile not find it due IO RUTTER To the Memory of immortall BEN. TO write is easie but to write of thee Truth will be thought to forfeit modesty So farre beyond conceipt thy strengths appeare That almost all will doubt what all must heare For when the World shall know that Pindar's height Plautus his wit and Seneca's grave weight Horace his matchlesse Nerves and that high phrase Wherewith great Lucan doth his Readers maze Shall with such radiant illustration glide As if each line to life were property'd Through all thy Workes And like a Torrent move Rowling the Muses to the Court of Jove Wits generall Tribe will soone intitle thee Heire to Apollo's ever verdant Tree And 't will by all concluded be the Stage Is widowed now was bed-rid by thy age Aswell as Empire wit his Zenith hath Nor can the rage of time or tyrants wrath Encloud so bright a flame But it will shine In spight of envie till it grow divine As when Augustus raign'd and warre did cease Romes bravest wits were usher'd in by peace So in our Halcyon dayes we have had now Wits to which all that after come must bow And should the Stage compose her selfe a Crowne Of all those wits which hitherto sh 'as knowne Though there be many that about her brow Like sparkling stones might a quick lustre throw Yet Shakespeare Beaumont Johnson these three shall Make up the Jem in the point Verticall And now since JOHNSON'S gone we well may say The Stage hath seene her glory and decay Whose judgement was 't refined it Or who Gave Lawes by which hereafter all must goe But solid JOHNSON from whose full strong quill Each line did like a Diamond drop distill Though hard yet cleare Thalia that had skipt Before but like a Maygame girle now stript Of all her Mimick Jigges became a sight With mirth to flow each pleas'd spectators light And in such gracefull measures did discover Her beauties now that every eye turn'd Lover Who is' t shall make with great Sejanus fall Not the Stage crack but th' Universe and all Wild Catilines sterne fire who now shall show Or quench't with milke still'd downe by Cicero Where shall old Authors in such words be showne As vex their Ghosts that they are not their owne Admit his Muse was slow 'T is Judgements Fate To move like greatest Princes still in state Those Planets placed in the higher Sphoeres End not their motion but in many yeares VVhereas light Venus and the giddy Moone In one or some few dayes their courses run Slow are substantiall bodies But to things That ayery are has Nature added wings Each triviall Poet that can chant a Rime May chatter out his owne wits Funerall chime And those slight nothings that so soone are made Like Mushromes may together live and fade The Boy may make a Squib But every line Must be considered where men spring a mine And to write things that Time can never staine VVill require sweat and rubbing of the braine Such were those things he left For some may be Eccentrick yet with Axiomes maine agree This I le presume to say VVhen Time has made Slaughter of Kings that in the VVorld have sway'd A greener Bayes shall Crowne BEN. JOHNSONS Name Then shall be wreath'd about their Regall Fame For Numbers reach to Infinite But He Of whom I write this has prevented me And boldly said so much in his owne praise No other pen need any Trophie raise OW FELLTHAM On BEN IONSON TO MEMORIE I Doe not blame their paines who did not doubt By labour of the Circle to