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And kept 'em prisoners of course,
To this brave man the Knight repairs
Quoth he, there is one Sidrophel,
Then there's a lady too-Ay, marry !
Sir, (quoth the lawyer,) not to flatter ye,
I thank you (quoth the Knight) for that,
Then, whether you would take her life,
For that (quoth he) let me alone ;
That's well, (quoth he,) but I should guess, By weighing all advantages, Your surest way is first to pitch On Bongey for a water-witch ; And when ye've hang’d the conjurer, Ye've time enough to deal with her. In th’int'rim spare for no trepans To draw her neck into the bans ; Ply her with love-letters and billets, And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets, With trains t'inveigle and surprise Her heedless answers and replies;
And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,
I would not give (quoth Hudibras)
(Born, 1593. Died, 1683.)
Isaak Walton, who in the humble profession feet and a half long and five feet wide. His of a sempster in London had some of the most favourite amusement was angling, on which he eminent men of his age for his intimate friends, has left a treatise, together with some interesting was born at Stafford, and made his first settle- biographical memoirs, which have been made ment in London in a shop which was but seven well known by many modern and elegant editions,
THE ANGLER'S WISH.
I in these flowery meads would be :
Or on that bank feel the west wind
Or a leverock build her nest :
* Probably his dog.
WENTWORTH DILLON, EARL OF ROSCOMMON.
(Born, 1623. Died, 1684-5.]
WENTWORTH Dillon, Earl of Roscommon, was a captain of the Band of Pensioners. “It may the maternal nephew of the unfortunate Earl of be remarked,” says Dr. Warton, “ to the praise Strafford. He was born in Ireland, educated at of Roscommon, that he was the first critic who Caen in Normandy, travelled into Italy, and, re had taste and spirit enough publicly to praise the turning to England at the Restoration, was made Paradise Lost *."
FROM “AN ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE."
IMMODEST words admit of no defence ;
Yet 'tis not all to have a subject good :
On sure foundations let your fabric rise, And with attractive majesty surprise ; Not by affected meretricious arts, But strict harmonious symmetry of parts ; Which through the whole insensibly must pass, With vital heat to animate the mass : A pure, an active, an auspicious flame; [came : And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing But few, oh ! few souls, pre-ordain’d by fate, The race of gods, have reach'd that envied height. No Rebel-Titan's sacrilegious crime, By heaping hills on hills can hither climb :
The grizly ferryman of hell denied
Pride (of all others the most dangerous fault)
What I have instanced only in the best, Is, in proportion, true of all the rest. Take pains the genuine meaning to explore ! There sweat, there strain ; tug the laborious oar ; Search every comment that your care can find ; Some here, some there, may hit the poet's mind : Yet be not blindly guided by the throng: The multitude is always in the wrong. When things appear unnatural or hard, Consult your author, with himself compared. Who knows what blessing Phæbus may bestow, And future ages to your labour owe ? Such secrets are not easily found out ; But, once discover'd, leave no room for doubt. Truth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breast; And peace and joy attend the glorious guest.
Truth still is one ; truth is divinely bright; No cloudy doubts obscure her native light; While in your thoughts you find the least debate, You may confound, but never can translate. Your style will this through all disguises show; For none explain more clearly than they know.
(* Dryden was before him, but Roscommon was the first to write in imitation of Milton's manner.)
WENTWORTH DILLON, EARL OF ROSCOMMON.
He only proves he understands a text,
His pills as thick as hand grenadoes flew ; Whose exposition leaves it unperplex'd.
And where they fell, as certainly they slew : They who too faithfully on paines insist,
His name struck everywhere as great a damp, Rather create than dissipate the mist;
As Archimedes' through the Roman camp. And grow unjust by being over nice,
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool ; (For superstitious virtue turns to vice.)
For smarting soundly may convin
a fool. Let Crassus' ghost and Labienus tell
But now repentance came too late for grace ; How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell. And meagre famine stared him in the face : Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame, Fain would he to the wives be reconciled, That few know Pacorus' or Moneses' name. But found no husband left to own a child. Words in one language elegantly used,
The friends, that got the brats, were poison'd too: Will hardly in another be excused ;
In this sad case, what could our vermin do? And some that Rome admired in Caesar's time, Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail, May neither suit our genius nor our clime. Th’unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail : The genuine sense, intelligibly told,
And there with basket-alms, scarce kept alive, Shows a translator both discreet and bold.
Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive. Excursions are inexpiably bad ;
I pity, from my soul, unhappy men, And 'tis much safer to leave out than add., Compellid by want to prostitute their pen; Abstruse and mystic thought you must express Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead, With painful care, but seeming easiness ;
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead ! For truth shines brightest through the plainest | But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd heirs, dress.
Who to your country owe your swords and cares, Th”Ænean Muse, when she appears in state, Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce, Makes all Jove's thunder on her verses wait ; For rich ill poets are without excuse ; Yet writes sometimes as soft and moving things "Tis very dangerous tampering with the Muse, As Venus speaks, or Philomela sings.
The profit 's small, and you have much to lose; Your author always will the best advise,
For though true wit adorns your birth or place, Fall when he falls, and when he rises, rise, Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race. Affected noise is the most wretched thing,
No poet any passion can excite, That to contempt can empty scribblers bring. But what they feel transport them when they write. Vowels and accents, regularly placed,
Have you been led through the Cumaan cave, On even syllables (and still the last)
And heard th' impatient maid divinely rave ? Though gross innumerable faults abound,
I hear her now ; I see her rolling eyes ; In spite of nonsense, never fail of sound.
And panting, Lo ! the God, the God, she cries : But this is meant of even verse alone,
With words not hers, and more than human sound, As being most harmonious and most known : She makes th' obedient ghosts peep trembling For if you will unequal numbers try,
through the ground. There accents on odd syllables must lie.
But, though we must obey when Heaven commands, Whatever sister of the learned Nine
And man in vain the sacred call withstands, Does to your suit a willing ear incline,
Beware what spirit rages in your breast ; Urge your success, deserve a lasting name, For ten inspired, ten thousand are possest : She'll crown a grateful and a constant Hame. Thus make the proper use of each extreme, But, if a wild uncertainty prevail,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm. And turn your veering heart with every gale, As when the cheerful hours too freely pass, You lose the fruit of all your former care,
And sparkling wine smiles in the tempting glass, For the sad prospect of a just despair.
Your pulse advises, and begins to beat A quack (too scandalously mean to name) Through every swelling vein a loud retreat : Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame ; So when a Muse propitiously invites, As if Lucina had forgot her trade,
Improve her favours, and indulge her flights ; The labouring wife invokes his surer aid.
But when you find that vigorous heat abate, Well-season'd bowls the gossip's spirits raise, Leave off, and for another summons wait. Who, while she guzzles, chats the doctor's praise; Before the radiant sun, a glimmering lamp, And largely, what she wants in words, supplies, Adulterate measures to the sterling stamp, With maudlin eloquence of trickling eyes.
Appear not meaner than mere human lines, But what a thoughtless animal is man !
Compared with those whose inspiration shines : (How very active in his own trepan !)
These, nervous, bold ; those, languid and remiss ; For, greedy of physicians' frequent fees,
There cold salutes; but here a lover's kiss. From female mellow praise he takes degrees ; Thus have I seen a rapid headlong tide, Struts in a new unlicensed gown, and then With foaming waves the passive Saone divide ; From saving women falls to killing men.
Whose lazy waters without motion lay, Another such had left the nation thin,
While he, with eager force, urged his impetuous In spite of all the children he brought in.
CHAMONT'S SUSPICIONS OF HIS SISTER.
Cam. No, but I fear her weakness
May make her pay a debt at any rate ;
I've heard a story lately much disturbs me.
Acas. Then first charge her; and if the offence
be found Acas. Go you, and give them welcome and re Within my reach, though it should touch my nature, ception.
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoiced in,
Alas, my brother ! Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it.
What have I done ? and why do you abuse me? Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.
My heart quakes in me ; in your settled face Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship nor your
And clouded brow methinks I see my fate : justice.
You will not kill me! Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
Pr’ythee, why dost talk so! My orphan sister, must not be forgotten !
Mon. Look kindly on me, then. I cannot bear Acas. Pr’ythee, no more of that ; it grates my
Severity ; it daunts, and does amaze me :
My heart's so tender, should you charge me rough, Cham. When our dear parents died, they died
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing. together,
[them : But use me gently like a loving brother, One fate surprised them, and one grave received
And search through all the secrets of my soul.
A tender, honest, and a loving brother.
I shall never.
That lived up the standard of his honour,
He'd not have done a shameful thing but once,
And I more glory in it, than if possess'd
It speaks an honest nature. Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
You have soild this gem, and taken from its value,
I've not wrong'd her. How will you account with me? Cham. Far be it from my fears.
I challenge envy, Acas.
Then why this argument ? Malice, and all the practices of hell, Cham. My lord, my nature 's jealous, and you'll To censure all the actions of my past Acas. Go on.
[bear it. Unhappy life, and taint me if they can ! Cham. Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly : Cham. I'll tell thee, then: three nights ago, as I Good offices claim gratitude ; and pride,
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me, Where power is wanting, will usurp a little, A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat And make us (rather than be thought behind-hand) Dew'd all my face, and trembling seized my limbs : Pay over-price.
My bed shook under me, the curtains started, Acas. I cannot guess your drift ;
And to my tortured fancy there appear'd Distrust you me?
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art,