FROM A COLLECTION OP EMBLEMS, 1635
(See Letter 35, page 123)
It merits not your Anger, nor my Blame,
That, thus I have inscrib'd this Epigram:
For, they who know me, know, that, Bookes thus large,
And, fraught with Emblems, do augment the Charge
Too much above my Fortunes, to afford
A Gift so costly, for an Aierie-word:
And, I have prov'd, your Begging-Qualitie,
So forward, to oppresse my Modestie;
That, for my future ease, it seemeth fit,
To take some Order, for preventing it.
And, peradventure, other Authors may,
Find Cause to thanke me for't, another day.
These many years, it hath your Custom bin,
That, when in my possession, you have seene
A Volume, of mine owne, you did no more,
But, Aske and Take; As if you thought my store
Encreast, without my Cost; And, that, by Giving,
(Both Paines and Charges too) I got my living;
Or, that, I find the Paper and the Printing,
As easie to me, as the Bookes Inventing.
If, of my Studies, no esteeme you have,
You, then abuse the Courtesies you crave;
And, are Unthankfull. If you prize them ought,
Why should my Labour, not enough be thought,
Unlesse, I adde Expences to my paines?
The Stationer, affoords for little Gaines,
The Bookes you crave: And, He, as well as I
Might give away, what you repine to buy:
For, what hee Gives, doth onely Mony Cost,
In mine, both Mony, Time, and Wit is lost.
What I shall Give, and what I have bestow'd
On Friends, to whom, I Love, or Service ow'd,
I grudge not; And, I thinke it is from them,
Sufficient, that such Gifts they do esteeme:
Yea, and, it is a Favour too, when they
Will take these Trifles, my large Dues to pay;
(Or, Aske them at my hands, when I forget,
That, I am to their Love, so much in debt.)
But, this inferres not, that, I should bestow
The like on all men, who my Name do know;
Or, have the Face to aske: For, then, I might,
Of Wit and Mony, soone be begger'd, quite.
So much, already, hath beene Beg'd away,
(For which, I neither had, nor looke for pay)
As being valu'd at the common Rate,
Had rais'd, Five hundred Crownes, in my Estate.
Which, (if I may confesse it) signifies,
That, I was farre more Liberall, than Wise.
But, for the time to come, resolv'd I am,
That, till without denyall (or just blame)
I may of those, who Cloth and Clothes do make,
(As oft as I shall need them) Aske, and Take;
You shall no more befoole me. Therfore, Pray
Be Answer'd; And, henceforward, keepe away.
PASSAGE FROM GEORGE DYER'S "POETIC SYMPATHIES"
FROM POEMS, 1800
(See Letter 83, page 218)
Yet, Muse of Shakspeare[1], whither wouldst thou fly,
With hurried step, and dove-like trembling eye?
Thou, as from heav'n, that couldst each grace dispense,
Fancy's rich stream, and all the stores of sense;
Give to each virtue face and form divine,
Make dulness feel, and vulgar souls refine,
Wake all the passions into restless life,
Now calm to softness, and now rouze to strife?
Sick of misjudging, that no sense can hit,
Scar'd by the jargon of unmeaning wit,
The senseless splendour of the tawdry stage[2],
The loud long plaudits of a trifling age,
Where dost thou wander? Exil'd in disgrace,
Find'st thou in foreign realms some happier place[3]?
Or dost thou still though banish'd from the town,
In Britain love to linger, though unknown?
Light Hymen's torch through ev'ry blooming grove,[4]
And tinge each flow'ret with the blush of love?
Sing winter, summer-sweets, the vernal air,
Or the soft Sofa, to delight the fair[5]?
Laugh, e'en at kings, and mock each prudish rule,
The merry motley priest of ridicule[6]?
With modest pencil paint the vernal scene,
The rustic lovers, and the village green?
Bid Mem'ry, magic child, resume his toy,
And Hope's fond vot'ry seize the distant joy[7]?
Or dost thou soar, in youthful ardour strong,
And bid some female hero live in song[8]?
Teach fancy how through nature's walks to stray,
And wake, to simpler theme, the lyric lay[9]?
Or steal from beauty's lip th' ambrosial kiss,
Paint the domestic grief, or social bliss[10]?
With patient step now tread o'er rock and hill,
Gaze on rough ocean, track the babbling rill[11],
Then rapt in thought, with strong poetic eye,
Read the great movement of the mighty sky?
Or wilt thou spread the light of Leo's age,
And smooth, as woman's guide, Tansillo's page[12]?
Till pleas'd, you make in fair translated song,
Odin descend, and rouse the fairy throng[13]?
Recall, employment sweet, thy youthful day,
Then wake, at Mithra's call, the mystic lay[14]?
Unfold the Paradise of ancient lore[15],
Or mark the shipwreck from the sounding shore?
Now love to linger in the daisied vale,
Then rise sublime in legendary tale[16]?
Or, faithful still to nature's sober joy,
Smile on the labours of some Farmer's Boy[17]?
Or e'en regardless of the poet's praise,
Deck the fair magazine with blooming lays[18]?
Oh! sweetest muse, oh, haste thy wish'd return,
See genius droop, and bright-ey'd fancy mourn,
Recall to nature's charms an English stage,
The guard and glory of a nobler age.