« EelmineJätka »
What mighty gale hath rais'd a flight so strọng?
So high above all vulgar eyes? so long?
One single rapture scarce itself confines
Within the limits of four thousand lines:
And yet I hope to see this noble heat
Continue tịll it makes the piece complete,
That to the latter age it may descend,
And to the end of time its beams extend,
When poesy joins profit with delight,
Her images should be most exquisite,
Since man to that perfection cannot rise,
Of always virtuous, fortunate, and wise;
Therefore the patterns man should imitate
Above the life our masters should create.
Herein if we consult with Greece and Rome,
Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome;
Tho' mighty raptures we in Hamer find,
Yet, like himself, his characters were blind;
Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gaz’d,
But his sublimed thoughts to heav'n were rais'de
Who reads the honours which he paid the gods
Would think he had beheld their blest abodes;
And that his hero might accomplish'd be,
From divine blood he draws his pedigree.
From that great judge your judgment takes its law,
And by the best original does draw
Bonduca's honour, with those heroes time
Had in oblivion wrapt his sąucy crime:
To them and to your nation you are just,
In raising up their glories from the dust;
And to old England you that right have done,
To show no story nobler than her own.
NEWS FROM COLCHESTER:
Or, a proper New Ballad of certain curnal pas-
suges betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsley,
near Colchester, in Esser.
To the tune of“ Tom of Bedlam.”
All in the land of Essex,
Near Colchester the zealous,
On the side of a bank
Was play'd such a prank
As would make a stone-horse jealous.
Help Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,
For brother Green's a stallion:
Now, alas! what hope
Of converting the Pope,
When a quaker turns Italian?
Even to our whole profession
A scandal 'twill be counted,
When'tis talk'd with disdain
Amongst the profane
How Brother Green was mounted.
And in the good time of Christmas,
Which tho' our saints have damn'd all,
Yet when did they hear
That a damn'd Cavalier
Ever play'd such a Christmas gambol !
Had thy flesh, O Green ! been pamper'd
With any cates unhallow'd;
Hadst thou sweeten'd thy gums
With pottage of plums,
Or profane minc'd pye had swallow'd;
Roll’d up in wanton swine's flesh
The fiend miglit have crept into thee;
Then fulness of gut
Might have caus'd thee to rut,
And the devil have so rid thrio' thee.
But, alas ! he had been feasted
With a spiritual collation
By our frugal Mayor,
Who can dine on a prayer,
sup on an exhortation.
'Twas mere impulse of spirit,
Tho' he us'd the weapon carnal :
• Filly Foal,' quoth he,
My bride thou shalt be; • And how this is lawful learn all:
For if no respect
of * Be due 'mongst sons of Adam, . In a large extent 'Thereby may be meant That a mare's as good as a madam."
Then without more ceremony,,
Not bonnet veild, nor kiss'd her,
But took her by force,
For better for worse,
And us'd her like a sister.
Now when in such a saddle
A saint will needs be riding,
Tho' we dare not say
'Tis a falling away,
May there not be some backsliding?
XII. No, surely,' quoth James Naylor, « 'Twas but an insurrection « Of the carnal part, . For a Quaker in heart • Can never lose perfection.
XIII.7 For (as our masters * teach us) • The intent being well directed, « Tho' the devil trepan
The Adamical man, « The saint stands uninfected.'