â—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 iâ—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 â—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
his Loss and sing our selves to Death But whither whither wouldst Thou sly My feeble Muse The Quarry's much too high To some great Genius leave his praise Which may survive to After-days Let Congreve then in Deathless Song His Father's Loss deplore Congreve must his Fame prolong In such soft rural Strains as once he Sung before Whilst generous Montague both Great and Just In some rich Urn preserves his Sacred Dust And or'e his Grave a Mausolaeum rears To be the Envy'd Wonder of succeeding Years Iohn Froud An ELEGY on the much Lamented Death of John Dryden Esq the famous English Poet. Tu Decus omne tuis Postquam te fata tulerunt Ipsa Pales Agros Atque ipse relignit Apollo Virg. THE careful Business of the day was done And gloomy Darkness reign'd where Phaebus shone When with the Sun a Swain retir'd to rest T' allay the Troubles of his anxious Breast Scarce on the Couch his weary Limbs were spread And on the Down reclin'd his pensive head But the sad startling Tydings reach'd his Ear Too doleful to be false too true to hear Long with himself the matchless Man he mourn'd And slumbring to th' unwelcome Task return'd He Curs'd the day that rowl'd the Message on And the shrill Tongue that made the Message known Then murmur'd at the changing Scenes below Whilst from his Eyes salt Streams disclos'd his Woe Sleep â—led his Eyes and anxious Thoughts possess'd The restless Region of his throbbing breast Aâ—â—last his Passion half becalm'd and dead In broken Words and mournful Sighs he said Happy the glorious Days when thou didst sit Unrivall'd in the sacred Throne of Wit When of Parnassian Sons a num'rous Throng Stood listning at their charming Phabus's Song â—â—ke Iove sublime and great like Venus soft and young How sweetly would fair Albion's Cliffs rebound And loth to lose the Voice dilate the sound From Vale to Vale and all the Forrest round No rugged Notes from his blest Lips cou'd fall Phaebus inspir'd as Phaebus chose them all Lofty his Verse as the blest Seats above Yet calm as are the Reaâ—ms of blissful of Love Serene and smooth as Ev'ning Rivers rowl As Nectar sparkling in th' immortaâ— Bowl And Heav'nly magick Work 's in ev'ry Line And through the whole surprizing Fancies shine Oh were He deathless as his VVorks Divine As Iove his Forme so He could change his Muse And now the Heroe now the Drama Chuse His Heroe lofty as the Eagle flies And like the Eagle comes from upper Skies See See! where most his happy Genious shines Behold the Beauteous Verse and Deathlâ—ss Lines How Sweetly does he Tune Great Maro's Lyre And fills but never Satisfies desire So Heavenly Joys with Raptures please the Mind And always leave a present Thirst behind The Silvan Songs how pleasant and how Sweet Where Maro's Thoughts and DRYDEN's Numbers meet His Thoughts how bold his Words how dazling brigh When Arms and War provoke a Nobler slight How Manly he the Grecian Muse bestrides And through the Air on strongest Pinions rides Oh that He 'd liv'd the finish'd VVork to view But now 't is left harmonious Garth for you So Canaan's happy Plains were seen from far But ne'er receiv'd the Sacred Traâ—eller So younger Ioshua past the Adverse Sand And brought lost Israel to the blissful Land His Drama's just and great and as it ought Without or Want or over-plus of Thought Not like the Infant Muse in frothy Fit That lavishes away its sterling Wit And when both Flame and Heat the Subject wants Has drain'd the Fountain's head in needless Rants That balks the longing Reader 's strong desire And this Oâ—tends him with excess of Fire But 'twixt the two his Vessel safe appears And in the Golden Medium wisely steers If once his stabbing Pen the Poet drew He spar'd the Wits but all the Blockheads slew So the far-shooting God is God of Sounds And with a Nodd the wandring Rabble wounds 'T was he that made old crabbed Iuv'nal plain And brought dark Persius to the Light again So Phaebus banishes the gloomy Night From our black Coasts on Wings of Morning Light But who can all th' Immortal Beauties tell That from his Heav'nly Muse divinely fell ' Twou'd ask a Tongue Divine as was his own To make his Worth his Value truly known Such was the Man the Man because retir'd His Death by All deplor'd as was his Life desir'd Unhappy Land thy radiant Glory 's gone As Ev'ning Rays sink with the Setting-Sun The Ghastly Truth is heard and flies and spreads And as it flies infectious Sorrow sheds All Albion's Sons with Sorrow delug'd round Full of the News lye prostrate on the Ground And clad with Weeds and melancholy vails Each mourning Swain the God-like Bard bewails His Mind was grown too pure and Heav'nly bright And must the Carcass leave and take to Heav'n its flight More he had spoke but Phaebus rais'd his head From off his watry Couch and thus he said Long have I mourn'd my Son's unhappy Fate But now am Summon'd on my Carr to wait Cease then to Weep till I have gain'd the Sky Least Grief shou'd to the World my Beams deny In Garth or Congreve shall his Genius shine Then cease thy Tears nor at harsh Fate repine He said the Promise cheer'd his drooping Breast And Light the present Deity confest R Key On the Death of John Dryden Esq IS DRYDEN Dead In whining Canto's Mourn And Tears profusely shed upon his Urn Ye servile Scriblers who were late his Scorn Whilst I rejoyce so great a Man was Born Not in the folly of an empty Mind Rail at his Stars or call the Fates unkind Cause he devested of Mortallity Has past Deaths narrow Poâ—ts t' Eternity To grieve at 's Death were impiously to Mourn At 's Life and murmur that he e're was Born Since Death is Life's Condition and to Dye As Nat'ral is as to be Born Then why With Clam'rous Plants should I perplex the Skies Disturb the Air with Groans the Winds with Sighs Or fouly fall upon the Destinies The Gods that gave Him might have kept him still His Being was appendent on their Will 'T was in their Power alone to make him be Or to have kept him in Nonentity And not t' have been's the same as not to be One Power at Once did Life and Death Decree And that he is not where 's the Injury Forth ' Blessings of his Life I thank the Gods Nor envy's Bliss in their Divine abodes 'T is true he whilst on Earth most sweetly Sung Soft melting Musick dwelt upon his Tongue And the Indulgent Gods they lent him long His Life our Blessing was his Death no wrong Tho' gone yet he has left in part behind The blest Ideas of his God-like Mind A Portion of his Soul to Human kind Dryden alone can spake alone can shew What we to his Informing Genius owe. Read but his Learned Works and there you 'l find The Native Lustre of his
Alexis Shepherd thy fears were Just the sad portent Is fatally explain'd in this Event For as that Sheep thy wand'ring Flock did lead Just so Palaemon did the Shepherds Head When growing Worth reach'd forward to the Bays He would with Joy the bold Pretender raise And be himself the Herald to his Praise Fix'd high in fame He gladly did dispense To blooming Wit a rip'ning Influence If o'er inform'd the Muse would soar too high And on advent'rous Pinions sought the Sky To bring her gently down he knew the Lure And made her fall Delightful and Secure Or should her flames on 〈◊〉 Wingâ— aspirâ— With active Vigour he 'd improve the Fire But while I strive to pay the Debt I owe To His commanding Skill I only Show How high it was in Him in me how low Yet this I have however to excuse The flowing Error of a Mourning Muse That when this uninspir'd Scroll was writ W 'had lost the Genius of our English Wit T. A. An Essay on the Death of Mr. Dryden THe justest Grief that can on Fate attend We owe the loss of Father and of Friend Mourn ev'ry Muse let all your Streams be dry But such as Sorrows lavish from the Eye That only can Inspire with Elegy To all Your softer Charms a long adieu Those Beauties Sacred Bard are lost with you Our Oracles are ceas'd our Language dies We 've scarce Expression left us but in Sighs Fain would I pay the mighty Debt I owe In flowing Words but Tears will only flow My kindling flame You kindly fann'd and taught T' ascend above and stop below a Fault By Precept and Example form'd my Mind And Wisdom's stricter bounds to Wit assignd By others faults instructed me to choose With care the Graceful for 〈◊〉 guilty blush Shew'd me where weighty Words where Figures please And where fair Nature shines without a Dress And all the Sterling Wealth my Issue wear's I own the fertile Product of Your Cares But now in vain are all those Labours spent The Muse can only help me to Lament Tell me Ye Widowed Nine for You can tell By all how Lov'd how Prais'd how Mourn'd he fell The Genius of our Isle He brought us home The Learned Spoils of Athens and of Rome And in our Native Tongue by him Refin'd Their richest Oar is with His Numbers join'd With Homer's plenty His Didactics flow Yet Virgil's Care their chast Expressions show More num'rous Joys not Horace could Inspire Nor touch with cleaner hands the charming Lyre When artless Nature He essay'd the Fair Felt Ovid's Softness and Tibullus's Air. And to suppress the blooming growth of Vice The fire and force of Iuvenal was His. Terence ne'er pleas'd a judging Audience With juster Characters or weightier Sense Nor Martial could in Miniature express A closer Thought or better Praise and Please What happy Genii furnish'd later Time With useful Numbers were but Types of Him They each excell'd in some one shining Part Of Verse but He in all the Sacred Art Ye Pious Few that to the Muse belong Pay at his Tâ—â—b th◠〈◊〉 oâ— your Song And tell the list'ning World no Age must know Another Universal Mind below Tell all the Great and Good their Glorious Aim And conscious Worth must now suffice for Fame And tell the brightest Stars in either Sphere No Vertue soar'd above his Flights but Their Thither th' aspiring Bard is Wing'd away Where her bright Fires guild an Eternal day To sing with His Her still united Rays But here Expression fails a thoughtful Breast Too big for Words can only feel the rest An ODE On the Death of John Dryden Esq By a Young LADY I. AS when Plebeians at a Monarch's Death Which should not be Prophan'd by Vulgar Breath With sawcy Grief bewail the Fate Of him they fear'd almost Ador'd of late Presumptuous in their Tears thô helpless in their State So I the Muse's meanest Subject join The Sorrows of the Great with mine And thô I cannot Tribute pay T' acknowledge Their Imperial Sway With arrogant yet conscious Grief presume To shed a Tear at Their Vicegerent's awful Tomb. II. Ah! who could think that God-like Man Immortal in our Thoughts as in His own Should have no greater Favour shown And thô with ev'ry Art and Grace Endow'd Should have a Life but of the usual Span And shrink into a Common Shroud Yet shall not His unequal'd Merit die Nor all the wrongs of Fate His Lawrels blast Thô Albion's Realms should be Destroy'd and Wast And in forgotten Ruins lye Fame's ecchoing Trump His Glories shall rehearse To all the wond'ring Universe Till its shrill Voice be swallow'd up in what shall sound the Last III. Sure Poets are not made of Common Earth Or He at least may boast a Nobler Birth He who in ev'ry Atom was Inspir'd With flowing Fancy and with Rapture fir'd Thô the great Secret's not disclos'd He surely was like Thebes with artful Tunes Compos'd The Voices of the soft Melodious Nine In Consort join'd Apollo's forming Lyre And Light ineffable infus'd its Fire With Tuneful Measures Harmony Divine At the glad Sacred all-commanding Sound With Animation passing Vulgar Thought The knowing willing Atoms came And danc'd into the Sacred Frame And bless'd Idea's brought Which fill'd His Soul and Ours with Rapture drown'd IV. It must be so for nothing else could dart Such Beams of Knowledge and Celestial Art So clear a Judgment and so bright a Mind Like it 's Almighty Maker ever Young And amid'st Weakness Strong Thô Age and Sickness both against it join'd But why did Phoebus and the Nine A Piece so Perfect make If we their Workmanship must now resign And they again the Blessing take Why was Thy Body most Illustrious Shade Like others made Subject to Casualties and Fate And comon ills which wait a Mortal State When thy Celestial Mind Had nothing of base Human kind But full of Inspiration spread It 's noble Ardour and its God-like Rage Whose Works shall be with Pleasure read By ev'ry coming Age. And Fame shall make Thee Live thô Fate has made Thee Dead V. Apollo once before a Temple bless'd Where all th' Inquisitive might come For an Ambiguous Doom And splendid Pomp amaz'd the Curious Guest Yet with less Glory could at Delphos shine Where Floors of Marble Roofs of Gold Did his Orac'lous God-head hold Than in thy living Shrine There He was check'd with a Priest-riding Yoke Nor till the Block-head pleas'd the God-head spoke But Phoebus ha's been always free And spoke without restraint in Thee In Thee with the same Pomp His Rays appear'd As when upon his bright Imperial Seat Where He the shining Scepter rear'd Beyond Expression great But Oh! that Deity is Silent now Silent as is Thy Tomb which claim 's our Tears No more the God within thy Voice appear's Nor speak's through Thee what we should know As from thy Lips the Graces flow As from thy Lips the Graces flow But all the lesser Lights of Wit Expire All
Oh Transcendent Dryden can we raise To thy unequal'd Numbers equal Praise When all their Talents made not up thy One Which Nobler grew as they became thy own Like Fruits Transplanted to a Warmer Sun Thy Mem'ry ever Sacred will survive Thy matchless Works that common Bounty give And you in them like other Poets live But as you flourish'd Albion's Pride and Grace And she in you did all the World surpass Sure she 'l contrive some Monument unknown To show her Gratitude and thy Renown And out do All as Thou hast All ourdone C. H ton To the Memory of John Dryden Esq Hunc quoque summa dies nigro summersit Averâ—o Effugiâ—t Avidos Carmina sola rogos Ovid. in mortem 〈◊〉 Coelestial Muse whose God-head could inspire The Bards of Old with Rays of Genial Fire And Teach 'em with Harmonious Tunes to raise Immortal Structures to their Hero's praise By whom ev'n late Posterity might know How much the greatest Men to Poets owe. You that our Orpheus could such numbers Teach And Learn'd the Mantuan Swan what Notes to reach When he of burning Ilium's Turrets Sung And told poor Dido's Love and Dido's wrong You that this Island with a Cowley blest And chose Immortal Dryden from the rest To rule the Muses Land with powerful Sway And make the British Tongue his Art obey That we with wonder might his Works peruse And find a Rival for great Homer's Muse. If yet remains one Spark of Living Fire That did not with your Dryden's Life Expire Let me a while with Zealous sorrow tell How much he thought and Writ and yet how well How long he Envy'd Liv'd yet how Lamented fell But Oh how fond it is to wish how vain To hope for that which we can ne're obtain None but a Dryden should of Dryden Write And he alass is set in endless Night At rest he lies within the silent Grave Not its own Verse could it's own Master Save Death knew not Harmony nor felt the Charms Of Verse but close within it's Icy Arms. It Clasp'd the Bard whilst to its Natives Skies His Rising Soul enlarg'd from Bondage flies Where now his Numbers most Serenely flow On Nobler Subjects than he chose below Farewell Thou great Departed Shade Farewell No Humane Tongue our Grief or Loss can tell Thy Muse no more with her inchanting lays To Extasy our Wondring Souls can raise No more our Breasts with gentle raptures move Describing the immortal Joys of Love As the bleak Winter stops the Warbling Breath Of Philomel so Thine is stopt by Death But with this Difference the returning Spring Renews her Voice and she again will Sing Again run all her Mournful Musick ore But thou alas must Write must Sing no more 'T is true thou long hadst left th' ungrateful Stage Where only Congreve now can please this Age. Congreve the Darling of the Sacred Nine Whose Charming Numbers only yield to Thine Yet still new Worlds of Wit Thy Cares Explor'd We Read with Wonder what we still ador'd In English Dress we View great Maro's Song Nor has Thy Version done its Author wrong So justly wrought so lofty smooth and fine That when the Latin we compare with Thine Which Merits most our praise its hard to tell He Wrote and thou Translatedst him so well Nay hadst thou liv'd thy Muse had brought from Greece A Nobler Treasure than the Golden Fleece Achilles then upon the Brittish plain Had fought and mourn'd his Dear Patroclus Slain Then Chast Penelope had wept to prove An absent Husband had her present Love And we all Wondring at her Arts had stood To see her by such Grecian Nobles Woo'd Yet still refuse them with an Air Divine Though Courted in such Magick Verse as Thine But thus it will not be The Muse is fled Aâ—d there amongst the mighty Rivals dead Methinks I see the Reverend Shades prepare With Songs of Joy to waft thee through the Air. And lead Thee o're the bright Aetherial Fields To tast the Bliss which their Elizium yields Wheâ—e Chaucer Iohnson Shakespear and the rest Kindly embrace their venerable Guest Then in a Chorus sing an Ode of Praise And Crown thy Temples with Eternal Bays Whilst we in pensive Sables clad below Bear hence in solemn Grief and pompous Woe Thy sacred Dust to Chaucer's peaceful Urn And round thy awful Tomb profusely mourn Here take thy rest enjoy thy sweet repose Death has secur'd thy Mem'ry from thy Foes And though my Verse must perish as it s born If thy great Name protect it not from scorn Thine thine shall live when Time shall have no Name Eternal in its Beauties and its Fame On the Death of John Dryden Esq FArewel thou Chiefest of the Sons of Fame Ev'n I who formerly presum'd â—o blame Now change my Stile and Celebrate thy Name Not that I writ with Prejudice or Spite But might too warmly vindicare the Right But dy thy Faults and Mine and with 'em dy All vain Religious Animosity The Seamless Coat by our Divisions torn Is by the py-ball'd Sects in Patches worn Each has its Rent and they no more require Which we agreeing shou'd prâ—serve intire The way thus clear'd Lo Noble Ghost I come One of thy num'rous Train to sing Thee home The Triumphs of thy Numbers to proclaim And join my Voice with theirs whose Voice is Fame Scarce did Thy Phoebus soar a loftier pitch Than what thy own Aspiring Notes cou'd reach They did not strain to rise or faintly fly But with a Seraph's Pinion wingd the Sky While list'ning Angels did thy Layes admire And wish Thee there in the Celestial Quire Thy Human with their Heav'nly Songs to join To make the Concert perfectly Divine But tho' to Honour Thee we all agree What can we add to thy Repute or Thee Short-liv'd and vain is all th' Applause we give Our Lines must dye and only Yours will live When Homer who is now Thy nearest Mate Was call'd from Earth to his Immortal State That Life and Glory with the Gods to share Which has been since so Celebrated heâ—e The Youth of Greece no doubt as One did join All grateful to his Fame as we to Thine It eâ—'â—y Breast did warm to an Extreme To be the first on such a glorious Theme Yet not a Line and not a Name we see His vastly louder Fame has Theirs engrost As Human Voices are in Thunder lost The Greater Blaze of Light the Less o'er-pow'rs And so Thy Verse will once Extinguish Ours He 't was that did the Grecian Language rear To all the Strength and Loftiness 't wou'd bear The Latin Virgil seated in the Skies And beyond which it cou'd no higher rise And you the Third have fixt the British Tongue To run as Copious and to last as long Made by thy Purity of Phrase and Sense Not capable of further Excellence So God his Bounds to the wide Ocean laid And told it Hither come And here be staid This Fate besides peculiarly You bear In
Noble Mind Judgment amidst his Works and Fancy shine In every Page and sparkle in each Line His Numbers easy soft and flowing are His Arguments than Virgin Streams more clear Through whose Transparent Christalls you may Spye The Radiant Genis which at the bottom lye His Words adorn his Wit his Wit his Words And each to 'th other matchless Grave affords His Characters are all so finely Drawn That Nature seems by him to be out-done The Prince and Hero in his Works you 'l see Drawn to the full not in Epitome That mighty Minds no Fate can ever bow Great Montezuma's Sufferings will Shew Where Majesty through thickest Clouds does shine With Rays most bright and Lustre most Divine There Cortez when a Captive you may see Great and Triumphant as when Victo's free I' th' person of Young Guyomar is shewn A Gen'rous Lover and a Pious Son His various Ways could various Charms impart His Fancy flow'd but govern'd was by Art His Numbers beautious and his Beauties strong His Periods just and â—itted to his Song But now the Glory of our Isle is gone No Nation e're could boast so great a Son The Muses all his Death deplore yet so As Widows their Deceased Husbands do Not wildly without hope for this they know The Gods that gave them One can give them Two Thus whilst for Dryden's Death they 're prest with Grief I' th' thoughts of Garth they feel a kind relief Even so let Albion mourn his Loss and so To all the World her decent Sorrow shew But let no Man be vainly obstinate Or too profuse in Grief since the same Fate That gave us Him can give us one as Great A troubled Thought sometimes will force a Sigh Sometimes a generous Tear will wet the Eye Nature claims these and these we can't deny And may with Justice pay his Memory But who with studied Arts their Griefs improve Shew more of Ostentation than of Love I. T. Occasion'd by the Sight of Mr. Dryden's Picture at Sir Godfry Knellers Drawn with the Bays in his Hand NAy sure 't is he the living Colours move And strike our Souls with Wonder and with Love Has his soft Lyre dissolv'd Deaths fatal Chain And given our Orphaeus to the World again Such is thy Art Great Kneller as relieves His mourning Friends and into Joy deceives They who beneath the heaviest Sorrow bend Who grieve not for the Poet but the Friend When they behold this Piece their Tears restrain And doubt a while if they lament in vain So those whom Fate destroys thy Hand can save And lengthen out a Life beyond the Grave Oh! do thou place on Dryden's Learned Brow The Sacred Bays for none dare envy now Thus He to future Ages shall be shown Immortal in thy Works as in his Own B. Buckeridge On the Death of John Dryden Esq GReat Dryden's Dead and what bold daring Muse Shall her last Office to his Grave refuse In Tuneless Sounds and inharmonious Words Such as my Infant Muse affords Fain very fain wou'd I have told my dismal Tale Backward I thought my Verse to Trail 'Till Wak'd by awful Dryden's Name I quit the Lethargy of Grief and Write in Rhyme Why is there such partiality in fate T' allot deserving Men so small a Date While Fools and Coxcombs longer Live And as they grow in Folly so they Thrive Oh! had his Life been lasting as his Fame Ten Thousand Ages yet to come had seen His sacred shrine And Worship'd him as now they Reverence his Name But the Malitious hand of Envious Death Has stop'd the Tuneful Poet's Breath Nor can Apollo's self the loss retrieve With Grief his Med'cines and his Youth he sees And hates their useless Properties Since neither those cou'd the dead Bard revive Nor these add Ages to him yet alive All Powerful Poet cou'd I sing like thee I 'd smile at vain Amphion's empty Name Mine only mine shou'd stretch the Cheeks of Fame While I wou'd raise a costlier Thebes than he Rebuild Thee from the Grave and give Thee Immortality But Oh! my creeping Numbers cannot flow Spite of thy Name they 're stop'd by rising woe Yet take this humble tribute of my Verse For what I want in Praise my Tears shall pay Thy Herse Anonymus On the Great Preparations made for the Funeral of John Dryden Esq TO Living Wits all Nations else are kind And make their Fortunes equal to their Mind As they arise in slighted Merits cause And raise the drooping Laurels with Applause So the fam'd Town that o'er rough Adria rides And Laughs at the weak insults of it's Tides Return'd a Youthful Author's Tuneful Lays And gave the Bard a Pension for his Praise His Country's Fame in recompence He Sung And Venice is immortal from his Tongue But wiser we who all such Precepts scorn And act without the Prospect of return That Starve the Poet and Caress His Urn. To a Dead Author wonderfully kind But rank the Living with the Lame and Blind Like David while His Infant liv'd we Weep Sack Cloth put on and solemn Fasts we keep But when the Joyful News arrives He 's Dead We Feast the Body and adorn the Head With Songs and Dances follow to the Grave Whom just before we Branded for a Slave So Rome the great Ventidius once decry'd The Living Object of Her hate and Pride But Fate no sooner o'er His Breath prevail'd When ROMANS Buried Him at whom They rail'd Owning the Deathless Fame His Arms Atcheiv'd VVhich ne're had been Acknowledg'd had He Liv'd P. C. Vpon the Hearing of the Death of John Dryden Esq DEATH thou hast struck but 't is in vain to try To Render Mortal Immortality 'T is true Thy Dart this fatal harm has done The Fabrick built of Flesh and Blood is gone The Man appears no more unto our Sight We yield him gone into eternal Night But his Great Genius Lives and ever will Till thou hast left not one Dart more to Kill Wit 's mighty'st Hero thus o'recomes thy spight Ages to come shall read him with Delight N. Collins To Dr. Samuel Garth occasioned by the much Lamented Death of John Dryden Esq THough Pens like Your's and Tongues alone should dare To make Departed worth the Muse's Care And in Defence of injur'd Virtue rise And bear Consummate Learning to the Skies Yet since our Loss is greatest We may plead A right to Mourn what you can never need As Children we Lament a Parents fall And for His Precepts and his Counsels call As Brethren such as You bewail His Fate Bequeath'd for Guardians of our Infant State To parcel out the Bounties of the Dead And Comment on the Lectures He has Read Permit us then our Dutious Zeal to prove And make a Tender of our Tears and Love As we with Sighs unfeign'd the Task pursue And Weep him Dead who still must Live in You. And who shall make us known and stamp Esteem On what we Write since He 's the Writer's Theme Though ' midst our