Then take in hand thy lyre; Strike in thy proper strain; With Japhet's line1 aspire Sol's chariot, for new fire To give the world again : Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain. And, since our dainty age Cannot endure reproof, Make not thyself a page To that strumpet the stage; But sing high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof. TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM [Printed by Gifford in Underwoods, but really from the First Folio edition of Shakspeare, 1623.] To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. 1 Prometheus son of Iapetus. I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! A little further, to make thee a room1: And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova 2 dead, And shake a stage; or when thy socks were on, Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome In allusion to W. Basse's elegy on Shakspeare, beginning'Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh • Seneca. To learned Chaucer; and rare Beaumont, lie For Shakespear in your threefold, fourfold tomb.' Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; As they were not of Nature's family. And such wert thou! Look, how the father's face Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there! Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, And despairs day but for thy volume's light. 1 That he that man. EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE1. [From Underwoods.] Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, SIDNEY'S sister, PEMBROKE's mother; AN EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY. [From Underwoods.] Reader, stay; And if I had no more to say But: 'Here doth lie, till the last day, For if such men as he could die, EPODE2. [From The Forest.] Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, Is virtue and not Fate; Next to that virtue, is to know vice well, And her black spite expel. Which to effect (since no breast is so sure Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard Of thoughts to watch and ward 1 Mary, sister of Sir Philip Sidney (who wrote his Arcadia for her), and mother of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. She died in 1621, and is buried in Salisbury Cathedral. 2 The following is only the earlier (general) part of this fine Epode, 'sung to deep ears.' At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy To wakeful reason, our affections' king: Will quickly taste the treason, and commit 'Tis the securest policy we have To make our sense our slave. But this true course is not embraced by many By many? scarce by any. For either our affections do rebel, Or else the sentinel, That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep; Do several passions invade the mind, TO HEAVEN. [From The Forest.] Good and great God! can I not think of Thee, But it must straight my melancholy be? Is it interpreted in me disease, That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease? |