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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A49438	Luctus britannici, or, The tears of the British muses for the death of John Dryden, Esq., late poet laureat to Their Majesties, K. Charles and K. James the Second written by the most eminent hands in the two famous universities, and by several others.	Playford, Henry, b. 1657.; Roper, Abel, 1665-1726.	1700 (1700)	Wing L3451; ESTC R21041	34,391	86

●ohn Dryden Esq LUCTUS BRITANNICI OR THE TEARS OF THE British Muses FOR THE DEATH OF IOHN DRYDEN Esq LATE Poet Laureat to Their Majesties K. Charles and K. Iames the Second WRITTEN By the most Eminent Hands in the two Famous Vniversities and by several Others For ev'n when Death dissolve's our Humane Frame The Soul return's to Heav'n from whence it came Earth keep 's the Body Verse preserves the Fame Mr. Dryden in his Epistle to his Kinsman in his Fables Ancient and Modern LONDON Printed for Henry Playford in the Temple-Change and Abel Roper at the Black-Boy in Fleet-street And Sold by Iohn Nutt near Stationer's Hall 1700. TO William Stephens Esq Of Barton in the Isle of Wight SIR THE great Worth of the Deceas'd who is the Lamented Subject of the following Poems and the great value You had for His i●estimable Composures will We hope render the Present which is made to You of 'em more acceptable You have too great a knowledge of His Merit to want any thing to be said here in it's behalf and are so unwilling to hear any Panegyric on Your own that We shall omit the Common way of Dedications And since it is no News to those who have the Honour of Your Acquaintance to be told You are the Delight of the Country You live in that Your Temper is without Affectation Your Behaviour Courteous Your Generosity bounded with Discretion and that You have all the Politeness of the City in an Island so remote from it We shall only beg the favour of Your Patronage for what is Consecrated to the Memory of a Gentleman who when Living deserv'd more than one Mecaenas and beg leave to Subscribe SIR Your most Humble and most Obedient Servants Henry Playford Abel Roper The Booksellers to the READER THough the Gentlemen who have contributed to this Excellent Collection stand in need of no Advocates to Vindicate what they have Written Yet the Reflections of some who decry'd the Design because they had no concern in it and the Malice of others who gave it out for an Vn-correct and Trisling Performance renders a defence of it wholly Necessary The Reader will soon be satisfied that the Care which has been taken in Compiling this Volume has been more than has hitherto been usual in Collections of this Nature and will agree with us that Iustice has been done to the Great Man they are written in Honour of As the Gentlemen whom we have entrusted with the Supervisal and Choice of the several Poems have had our Thanks so we question not but they will have those of the Reader And if some Gentlemen among the many others whose Verses are not inserted should take it amiss we can excuse our selves no other way than by giving them to understand we are satisfied of the Iudgment of those Learned Gentlemen who did us the favour of making Choice of the most Valuable Performances though they may perhaps call it in question because it has run Counter to theirs H. P. A. R. LUCTUS BRITANNICI To the MEMORY of0 IOHN DRYDEN Esq WHEN Kings or Poets greater Monarchs die For even they must yield to Destiny Who can refuse a Tribute to their Hearse A grateful Tribute of a weeping Verse When Poets fall Death strikes a general Blow And Kings and Kingdoms share the Mighty Woe They and their Deeds together would decay Their Kingdoms too now ●lourishing and gay Must shortly yield to some fierce Enemy And low in Ruines and Oblivion lie Were not some pitying Poet nigh Troy still remains a Foyl to envious Age And dares the Graecian's Power and Goddess's Rage Embalm'd in Sacred Rhimes its Heroes live Nor shall e'en Time their Memory survive But Greece no more this Noble Song shall boast And Rome's last Refuge is in Maro lost Rome govern'd still in that harmonious Song But now the Glory does to us belong The Mighty Dryden bears aloft the Prize Rais'd on the Mantuan Swan away he flies Sung his last Song and mounted to the Skies Ye Sons of Art one farewel Verse bestow If yet your Griefs a calm of Thought allow Numbers perhaps your Sorrows may asswage Let Dryden then the pensive Muse engage Dryden the Wonder of a wondrous Age. Dryden The Charms of whose commanding Pen Immortaliz'd the best and worst of Men. He rais'd forgoten Heroes from their Graves And Re-inthron'd whom Death had deem'd her Slaves Fly trembling Ghost th' incestuous Theban raves The frighted Laius hears and dares not stay But back to Acheron he wings his wondring way E'en now the Roman Anthony repines And the scorn'd Globe for Love ambitiously resigns While busie Statesmen 'gainst their Monarchs plot Achitophel shall never be forgot Nor Cromwell e'er shall feel the force of Time Now he may justly glory in his Crime Condemn'd to Greatness by thy greater Rhime Preposterous Kindness Sh ll too in Thee Is handed down to late Posterity Thou didst the Greek and Roman Mines explore Refin'dst and purifi'dst the baser Oar Before thou land'st it on the British Shore Thou with new Flames didst Ovid's Breast inspire Thou charm'dst when e'er thou tun'dst the Roman Lyre Didst with more awful Rage the Satyrists fire Thou chac'dst the Clouds that did their Thoughts obscure And mad'st their Streams more Chrystalline and pure Thou 'st taught Lucretius a far Nobler Song His Numbers smoother and his Proofs more strong Theocritus and all the Bards of old Compell'd by Thee their Mysteries unfold But stop my Muse unable to relate His juster Glories let us mourn his Fate To sing his Praises gives but weak Relief The greater was his Praise the greater is our Grief When Years and Cares did Ovid's Breast invade His Lawrels faded as his Youth decay'd Age too th' Achaean Muse betray'd But Dryden still stemm'd this unequal Tide Did o'er these threatning Waves in Triumph ride Laught at their Envy and expos'd their Pride Not Age's Frost could thy brisk Spirits bind Or chill the active Vigour of thy Mind In vain did baffled Age pursue Whilst Eagle-like thou didst thy Bloom renew Thy powerful Nature felt no slow Decay But thy mourn'd Night was glorious as thy Day Farewel bright Shade and Triumph in the Grave Poets in Death their truest Glories have The well-plac'd Lawrel which did once adorn Thy aged Brow shall thence no more be torn Untouch'd it shall around thy Temples spread Kings Crown'd thee living but Fate Crown'd thee dead Ch. Vi. On this Collection of POEMS upon the Death of Mr. Dryden THO' well we know this Monument we frame Can nothing add to his Immortal Name Yet when a Theme so noble doth invite Our grateful Pens who can forbear to write 'T is true that Dryden's worth there 's none so well As Dryden's self in his own Works can tell But still these Essays this new Knowledge raise That as his Merits far exceed our Praise So tho' remorsless Fate did never yield For Fancy's various Flights a larger Field Yet He by Sence and Judgment

the Phantom smile Charm'd with the hopes of visiting our Isle Poor cheated Shade back to your Mansion go N●ne dares attempt to waft you over now The Piece the Fam'd Apelles once began Could ne'er be finish'd by another Man Who now will care a British Muse to read The Soul the God of English Verse is Dead Yet after all His great Atchievements done Of whi●h the least a Deathless Wreath has won Some wretched Men I speak it to their Shame Have drawn their Impious Pens to daub His Fame Tho all their spight could not provoke His Ire Nor did He make the trifling things retire But Lion-like disdain'd Ignoble Wars And scorn'd to turn and tear the whifling Curs But stay Methinks I see Great Congreve Frown And Southern look's with Indignation down To see an Unlearn'd Pen unknown to Fame In tuneless Lines Prophane their Father's Name My Muse at sight of Theirs is Aw'd and gone As twinkling Stars expire before the Sun Doddershall in Com. Bucks May 28th 1700. A. M. On the DEATH of Mr. DRYDEN DEad No 't is all Mistake he cannot Die Who e'er like Him secures His Memory His Soul and Fame how e'er his Body die Shall share unequal Immortality Tho Common Fate require his Vital breath H● still is safe and born to Fame in Death His Works with each succeeding Age shall vie And only with all humane Nature die Inferior Wits like less●r Stars each Age Have found with twinkling 〈…〉 S●age But He like Blazing-Star more rare in Sight Was rich in Wit Extravagant in Light But this unwonted Fate 'bove all we fear Thô he dy'd Rich yet none can be his Heir Hen. Hoyle A. M. Trin. Col. Cantab. On the Death of Mr. John Dryden LEt others when some Mighty Man they 'd Praise And Tro●hies ●qual to His Merits raise A single Muse Invoke t' Inspire their Lays But now there 's need of all the Sacred Nine Nay Phoebus too must in the Concert join To make the Numbers Sweet to make the Thoughts Divine He 's gone the Glory of our English Stage The Learned'st Poet in the Learned'st Age. Soft was His Verse and Charming was his Song His Genius sprightly and his Fancy young Ev'n Age on Him had no Imp●ession made The Poet Flourish'd thô the Man D●cay'd They say indeed Art's long and Life but Short But 't is not always so For thô he did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find They were not half so large as his Capacious Mind What thô Impartial Fate ha's taken Him away Reduc'd His Body to its Native Clay Yet in His Works he will for ever live In Congreve too his Glory will survive Congreve the Lawful Heir of all his Sense His Language Fancy and his Eloquence To which Estate none else can make Pretence B. K. Trin. Col. Cantab. Alum To the Memory of the truly Honoured JOHN DRYDEN Esq By a Young LADY DIsconsolate Britannia Mourning sate Sighs told her Loss and Tears Neander's Fate Each recollected Line renew'd Her Care And ev'ry Thought Inhanc'd her vast Despair Thus Gen'rous Grief long struggl'd in Her Breast But want of Language Passion 's Voice supprest At last spring-tides of Sorrow Silence broke And in an Agony these words she spoke Ye Pow'rs above that Rule this Earthly Stage Ye Sacred Numens of the present Age What has Britannia done to meet your Hate Why is she punish'd in Neander's Fate Could none but He have made your Anger known Could nothing l●ss than He your Wrath atone He whom Apollo's sacred Self Inspir'd Envy'd by many but by most Admir'd Who gave us Virgil in our Native Tongue And Absalom's Misfortunes so Divinely Sung DRYDEN on whom each Science did attend The gr●atest Genius and the greatest Friend Who Iuvenal and Persius overcame He taught them English yet preserv'd their Flame With Worlds of Words He did our Speech Refine And Manly strength with Modern softness join Each Language made subservient to His end And those Acquiests as bravely did Defend Not Fam'd Timotheus could with greater ease Command our Anger or our Wrath appease True Measure with his Verse our Passions kept And as He Pleas'd we either Smil'd or Wept How Noble was His Stile Sublime his Thought How nicely Just was ev'ry Piece he wrote But with His last what Numbers can compare Not dying Swan's more Sweet and Regular And till Neander Grac'd the British Sphere How abject did our Muses Sons appear They Coasted by the Shoar a Lazy way But all the Inlands Undiscover'd lay Wit 's Empire Dryden boldly did explore And like the Hero could have Wept for more But Gen'rously He 〈…〉 Rage And for His Albion's sake His Passion did asswage Through gloomy Shades unlighted by the day And Heights untrod He forc'd an open way For ev'ry Province Beacons did provide And marks succeeding Travellers to guide Then gave us Charts of what was long Conceal'd And to th' admiring World th' Incognita reveal'd Oh! had ye lengthen'd out His fleeting Hours Had he but liv'd t' ave made Great Homer ours Redeem'd his injur'd Sire and set him free From Chapman Hobb's and mangling Ogilby How had the Bard exulted in his mind And with what Pleasure his Great Soul resign'd But ah Britannia thou complain'st too late There 's no reversing the Decrees of Fate In vain we Sigh in vain alas we Mourn Th' Illustrious POET never will return All like himself he Dy'd so calm so free As none could equal but his Emily Weep weep Britannia never cease thy Tears But still encrease thy Sorrow with thy Years 'T was mighty Dryden gave thy Island Fame And made that Honour lasting with his Name This said She Pensively reclining lay And spent with Grief wore out the tedious day When sudden Beams of Light around her broke And in a Vision thus Apollo spoke Much lov'd Britannia from this Posture rise Lament no more nor dull thy beautous Eyes See where thy Dryden at my Elbow stand's And with what Pow'r he now the Nine Command's To gain his Plaudit how they all aspire And he the Genius is of Albion's Tuneful Quire Then up thou sluggish Isle revere his Name Let all thy Sons my Dryden's Worth proclaim And in Elegiac Numbers celebrate his Fame To the Memory of John Dryden Esq WIth flouds of Tears and with unbounded Grief We Mourn the Muse departed in Her Chief As ev'ry Poet Crown'd with Cypress pay's And Consecrates the Lawrel to Thy Praise Weeping to see such Hoary Merits fall And blaming Fate 's irrevocable Call Oh! sacred Bard in whose instructive Strains Maro ●s high Sense with Maro's Beauty reign 's In whose Translations we their Author's see And truly know their Worth by knowing Thee Accept the Sorrows which thy Sons bestow And Sighs which from our Breasts incessant flow Grief is the only Off'ring we can give Since thou who taught'st us Verse ha'st ceas'd to Live Not but thy Poems Dare the Fatal Pow'rs And give that Life Thou can'st not take from Ours 〈◊〉 B●rridge