Volume Ii Part 24 (1/2)

If now and then he takes a small pretence, 20 To forage for a little wit and sense, Pray pardon him, he meant you no offence.

Next summer, Nostradamus tells, they say, That all the critics shall be s.h.i.+pp'd away, And not enow be left to d.a.m.n a play.

To every sail beside, good heaven, be kind: But drive away that swarm with such a wind, That not one locust may be left behind!

XXI.

EPILOGUE TO ”MITHRIDATES, KING OF PONTUS;”

BY NATHAN LEE, 1678.

You've seen a pair of faithful lovers die: And much you care; for most of you will cry, 'Twas a just judgment on their constancy.

For, heaven be thank'd, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage: And even those martyrs are but rare in plays; A cursed sign how much true faith decays.

Love is no more a violent desire; 'Tis a mere metaphor, a painted fire.

In all our s.e.x, the name examined well, 10 Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell.

In woman, 'tis of subtle interest made: Curse on the punk that made it first a trade!

She first did wit's prerogative remove, And made a fool presume to prate of love.

Let honour and preferment go for gold; But glorious beauty is not to be sold: Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high, That nothing but adoring it should buy.

Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare; 20 They purchase but sophisticated ware.

'Tis prodigality that buys deceit, Where both the giver and the taker cheat.

Men but refine on the old half-crown way; And women fight, like Swissers, for their pay.

XXII.

PROLOGUE TO ”OEDIPUS.”

When Athens all the Grecian state did guide, And Greece gave laws to all the world beside; Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit, Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit: And wit from wisdom differ'd not in those, But as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose.

Then, Oedipus, on crowded theatres, Drew all admiring eyes and listening ears: The pleased spectator shouted every line, The n.o.blest, manliest, and the best design! 10 And every critic of each learned age, By this just model has reform'd the stage.

Now, should it fail (as Heaven avert our fear), d.a.m.n it in silence, lest the world should hear.

For were it known this poem did not please, You might set up for perfect savages: Your neighbours would not look on you as men, But think the nation all turn'd Picts again.

Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit You should suspect yourselves of too much wit: 20 Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece; And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece.

See twice: do not pellmell to d.a.m.ning fall, Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all: Pray be advised; and though at Mons you won, On pointed cannon do not always run.

With some respect to ancient wit proceed; You take the four first councils for your creed.

But, when you lay tradition wholly by, And on the private spirit alone rely, 30 You turn fanatics in your poetry.

If, notwithstanding all that we can say, You needs will have your penn'orths of the play, And come resolved to d.a.m.n, because you pay, Record it, in memorial of the fact, The first play buried since the woollen act.

XXIII.

EPILOGUE TO ”OEDIPUS.”