Selected quad for the lemma: world_n
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A57628
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An essay on translated verse by the Earl of Roscomon.
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Roscommon, Wentworth Dillon, Earl of, 1633?-1685.; Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
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1684
(1684)
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Wing R1930; ESTC R7257
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9,856
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40
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hold the Scales and give the Stamp of Wit In whom ripe judgement and Young fancy meet And force Poetic Rage to be discreet Who growes not nauseous whiles he strives to please But marks the Shelves in the Poetic Seas Who knows and teaches what our Clime can bear And makes the barren ground obey the labourers care Few cou'd conceive none the great work cou'd do T is a fresh province and reserv'd for You. Those Talents all are yours of which but One Were a Fair Fortune for a Muses Son Wit reading judgement conversation art A head well ballanc'd and a generous heart While insect Rhymes cloud the polluted Skie Created to molest the world and die Your File do's polish what your Fancy cast Works are long forming which must alwayes last Rough iron sense and stubborn to the Mold Touch'd by your Chymic hand is turn'd to Gold A secret Grace fashions the slowing lines And inspiration thro the Labour shines Writers in spight of all their paint and Art Betray the darling passion of their heart No Fame you wound give no chast ears offence Still true to Friendship Modesty and Sence So Saints from Heaven for our example sent Live to their Rules have nothing to repent Horace if living by exchange of fate Wou'd give no Laws but only yours translate Hoist Sail bold Writers search discover far You have a Compass for a Polar-Star Tune Orpheus Harp and with enchanting Rhymes Soften the savage humour of the Times Tell all those untouch'd Wonders which appear'd When Fate it self for our Great Monarch fear'd Securely thro the dangerous Forrest led By guards of Angels when his own were fled Heaven kindly exercis'd his Youth with Cares To crown with unmix'd joyes his riper years Make Warlike Iames's peaceful vertues known The Second Hope and Genius of the Throne Heaven in compassion brought him on our Stage To tame the fury of a monstrous Age. But what blest voice shall your Maria sing Or a fit offering to her Altars bring In joys in grief in triumphs in retreat Great alwayes without aiming to be Great True Roman Majesty adorns her Face And every gesture 's form'd by every Grace Her beauties are too Heavenly and refin'd For the Gross Senses of a Vulgar mind It is your part you Poets can divine To prophecy how she by Heavens design Shall give an Heir to the Great Brittish Line Who over all the Western Isles shall reign Both aw the Continent and rule the Main It is Your Place to wait upon her Name Thro the vast regions of Eternal fame True Poets souls to Princes are ally'd And the Worlds Empire with its Kings divide Heaven trusts the present time to Monarchs care Eternity is the Good Writers share Knightly Chetwood To the Earl of Roscomon on his Excellent Essay on Translated Verse WHile Satyr pleas'd and nothing else was writ But pure ill nature pass'd for noblest Wit Some priviledg'd Climes the poysonous weeds refuse But when a generous understanding Muse Does richer fruits from happier Soils Translate W' are sent to Ireland by reverse of fate Yet you I know with Plato would disdain To write and equal the Maeonian strain If t' would debauch your humour so far forth To think so mean a thing enhanc'd your worth For were that praise and only that your due Which Virgil too might claim no less then you Tho that had merited my bare esteem I 'de leave to other pens the single theme But when I saw the Candor of your mind A Muse inur'd to Camps in Courts refin'd A Soul e'vn capable of being a friend Free from those follies which the great attend I grant such excellence my Soul did fire Unable to commend I will admire Happy the man when no concern is nigh But Nature 's wanton and his blood runs high Who free from cares enjoys without control His Muse the darling Mistris of his soul No tedious Court his appetite destroys Nor thoughts of gain pollute the rapturous Joys The Dear Minerva's form'd without a pain And nothing less could spring from such a brain And yet his Godlike pity he imparts To those that drudge at Duty against their hearts And to illiberal uses wrest the Liberal Arts When I observe the wonders you explain Too much the antients you commend in vain In vain you would endeavour to perswade That all our Rites were in those Archives laid That Poetry must ever stand unmov'd The only Art Experience ha'nt improv'd But grant all this were to Religion grown Sure they concern no Countrys but their own For let the Aeneid pass through other hands And Virgils self a third-rate Poet stands Unfit to reach the heights that he has flown We wisely to our level bring him down Himself had writ less sweet and less sublime In any other tongue or other time And now my Lord on this account I grieve To think how different from your self you 'l live When this inimitable peice is shown In Languages and Empires yet unknown It will be Learning then to know and hear Not only what you wrote but what you were I. Amherst Cum Opus suum Manuscriptum una cum eleganti Carmine Latino sibi mitteret Illustrissimus Author ita respondit K. C. AVlae dulce decus quem culta Britannia vellet Scotia seque tibi vix peperisse putat Quid mihi dum nunquam peritura volumina mittis Me nisi mirari dulcis amice velis Scripta tua in melius qui singere possit Apellis Is Venerem Phidiae possit ille Jovem Concilio ille juvet miscentem elementa Tonantem Rectius soli scribere possit iter Res sancta est surgens vestra ad fastigia vates Cui praesens semper pectora numen babet Quantum est victuris victuras condere leges In litem lauros revocare novam Extinctis vitam dare res est quanta sed ipse Quantus pars minima est Musa diserta Tui AN ESSAY ON Translated Verse HAppy that Author whose correct Essay Repairs so well our Old Horatian way And happy those who if concurring Stars Praedestinate them to Poetick Wars With Pains and leisure by such Precepts write And learn to use their arms before they fight But since the Press the Pulpit and the Stage Joyn all their forces to invade our Age. Provok'd and urg'd we resolutely must To the few Virtues that we have be just For who have long'd or who have labour'd more To search the Treasures of the Roman store Or dig in Graecian Mines for purer Oar The noblest Fruits Transplanted in our Isle With early Hope and fragrant Blossoms smile Familiar Ovid tender Thoughts inspires And Nature seconds all his soft Desires Theocritus do's now to Vs belong And Albion's Rocks repeat his Rural Song Who has not heard how Italy was blest Above the Medes above the wealthy East Or Gallus Song so tender and so True As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view When Mourning Nymphs attend their Daphnis Herse Who