Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A67197
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Epistles to the King and Duke
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Wycherley, William, 1640-1716.
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1682
(1682)
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Wing W3742; ESTC R217195
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17,127
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70
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bold Observers blind Following you in Honours eager Game Wou'd tire the Poets Horse and Wings of Fame Report wou'd lagg behind Verse wou'd be Lame 'T is Sawciness to trace the Demi-Gods VVho Spur out of all Common Hackney-Roads When out of sight by Court-mouths Winds are Tost Yet highest when to Mortals they seem Lost So Eagle like to Mortals dazel'd Eye You then seem Least when you are got most High The greater distance you from Mortals are To Heaven your Sphere you are but much more neare Yet may your flight be long ere you come there Late let us loose in you our Heaven here Still on the Wing State Tempest keeps you up And to your Shiver'd Rock sorbids you stoop For want of where to perch round Heav'n you roame Made flye from home all Heaven is your Home But in last voyage you 'll find Volunteers Who dares not with you dye lives for more fears VVhen you to Danger and to Death lead on And dying from the sick world will be gon To short breath'd Cowards life wou'd then seem none VVhen from the dead world bravely you wou'd flye 'T were but Self-preservation then to dye That life is lost which with you is not lost VVhen Soule of Valour dyes man lives a Ghost A flying Shaddow Sneaks from Mortal view VVhen dareing Mortals wou'd Cold thing pursue And when your sacred Sun shall disappear The damn'd remaining will live pale Ghosts here And living will but daily dye with fear Coppying Soldiers Poets Paynters shall Want their bold hand and great Original I draw but once an age and after you No dawbing Prayse shall my Verse Pencil show Then can have no one sit or fight to me Or help to express true Victorie Victory whose dark Clouds but set it off And dang'rous odds are not it's loss but proof Victory when vain Glory 's led in Chains And mans cool Sence his hect'ring Will Constreyns Who cou'd your Glory draw shall honour have Shall conquer Envy be the muses Brave Of tedious Drawer you shall but Conplain Of draught in little dawbers greatest payn Who you for so ill picture dares deteyn But who in your Great Name once draws his Pen Will find it hard to finish as begin Paynting's bewitching when the Object 's dear When you sit still what dawber can forbear But trembling hand bold Pencil must let fall You must remain uncoppy'd Great Original You Paynters Poets Enemies disarm Unutterable virtue will all Sences charm What loads too much benums the brain and arm And dareing too ' sketch Immortality Is no devotion Pencil Blasphemy God Heav'n and you no mortal sees right here Are libell'd all by short prayse in long Pray'r And Tediousness 'gainst God and man 's a sin Not to conclude worse than not to begin You when you fight your Acts best Drawer are Immortal Deeds Gods best themselves declare So Gods in Miracles to men appear Your drawn Sword is your Stile Foes Iron Brest Where it's poynt best own keenness has exprest Fullness of Subject drowns your Poets Pen Who writing on finds still he 's to begin Drowns flowing Prayse it self with it's excess And loses great Name in own flourishes Your Royal Brothers and your only Name Preserve a Flatterer himself from blame Names which wou'd make late lying Poetry But spareing modest ciphr'ing History No Poets feign or will for lyars go Who your great Brothers and your vertues show Write all they can 't were short of him and you Courage was n'ere thought less for modestie He what he can yet lets not bold men see Th'Allmighty Thund'rers hand dos not appear Whilst he low Shrubs hard Rocks below dos tear Insolent Babel-builders have a care More high you Climb your fall will greater be Him you wou'd reach the Gods defend you see You 'l go to Heaven Sir no whether Flie You for your Country wou'd not by it Dye But when y' are ravish'd hence by conqring sphaeres Blasphemous Curses will be turn'd to Prayers If you were Dead then wou'd they make you Live Fearing no more your Valours due wou'd give But your Great Name can never greater grow By Heaven Fame World Me nay not by You Fame Poets Flatterers Courts Lying Crew In speaking Short of you do not speak True Their Praise more than Whiggs Malice will decry And but Besmear Names they wou'd Glorify Lying Fools praise or love worst Injury But Whigg That Burlesque little paultry sound In Ballad Verse fit only to be found Where your great Name is Sung it shoud be drown'd Yet I more lessen you Sir now I fear But when hir'd Pens against your Fame appear What block cou'd help being Verse-volunteer When Pentionary Quills rebel 'gainst Fame And draw upon the Noblest suff'ring Name I boldly take my Courage from their Shame Yet I perhaps may do Great Name more wrong By short blunt Pralse than edgeless Satyr long Their wicked Will is tho' their force not strong Great is their Rage who will expose their own Your Sacred Reputation to bring down Such flatt'ring foe-friends of Kings Purse and Crown To starving Muse let 'em be left alone Let Verse which was their Bellies not Heads crime Be'ts punishment in Unpoetick time Instead of Living may they starve by Ryme Be like their VVritings both short-liv'd and torn By praise of Fools and Knaves grow VVise mens scorn VVho like sed Dogs 'gainst absent bounty bay Snapping that Hand on which their wants did prey Moon-Barkers so 'gainst the VVorlds second Light VVith false Alarms disturb the quiet Night For shutting out themselves loud Noise still keep And will not let those of their own House sleep To Kennel Coffee-House e'en let 'em creep Lap Coffee and their Cares with pall'd Jests steep Like hungry Ratts for want of Food may they On their blurr'd Papers cham'd conceipts still prey Such Ratts cannot devour your Deathless Name ' Tho' they defac'd the Register of Fame Your Name wou'd still be what it was before None make you less your Self can't make you more That only is beyond your Vallours pow'r Post-script AS he who ne're took Cudgel up before Vext at Foul Play begin's thick skull to scoure In Poets Lists and layes about him round From sense of Friends VVrongs clumsey strength has found So has my just rage sharpen'd my blunt Quill Forgive Great Sir defending you so ill He alwayes has best Heart who shews least Skill My End is not at all to shew my Art In Lying Verse but here my-Your true Heart Which from the Left-Right-Side can never part The side Oppress'd is still to me the Right Who Loves asks not what Quarrel Friend does Fight Who Draws on Your Side nere can be i' th Wrong Poets still fight the Rabble and the Throng Mall'd Poets like bang'd Braves o' th' ground despise The Knock-down-Crowds who will not let 'em Rise The Honest tho' the Weak side has the Ods Poets and Heroes are help'd by the Gods FINIS Of 41