As politic as those who when the Moon As bright and glorious in a river fhone, Threw cafting-nets with equal cunning at her, To catch her with, and pull her out o' th' water. But when, at laff, they had unfcrew'd the glafs, To find out where the fly impoftor was, And faw 'twas but a Moufe, that by mithap Had catch'd himself, and them, in th' optic trap, Amaz'd, with fhame confounded, and afflicted To find themfelves fo openly convicted, Immediately made hafte to get them gone, With none but this difcovery alone: That learned men, who greedily purfue Things that are rather wonderful than true, And, in their niceft fpeculations, chufe To make their own difcoveries strange news, And natural hiftory rather a Gazette Of rarities ftupendous and far-fet,
Believe no truths are worthy to be known, That are not ftrongly vait and overgrown, And ftrive to explicate appearances, Not as they're probable, but as they pleafe, In vain endeavour Nature to fuborn, And, for their pains, are juftly paid with fcorn.
As metals mixt, the rich and bafe Do both at equal values país.
With these the ordinary debate Was after news, and things of state, Which way the dreadful comet went, In fixty-four, and what it meant? What nations yet are to bewail The operation of its tail?
Or whether France or Holland yet, Or Germany, he in its debt? What wars and plagues in Christendom Have happen'd fince, and what to come! What kings are dead, how many queens And princeffes are poifon'd fince? And who fhall next of all by turn Make courts wear black, and tradesmen in What parties next of foot or horse, Will rout, or routed be, of courfe? What German marches, and retreats, Will furnish the next month's Gazette:: What peftilent contagion next, And what part of the world, infects! What dreadful meteor, and where, Shall in the heavens next appear? And when again fhall lay embargo Upon the Admiral, the good ship Argo? Why currents turn in feas of ice Some thrice a day, and fome but twice? And why the tides, at night and noon, Court, like Caligula, the Moon? What is the natural caufe why fifh That always drink, do never pifs? Or whether in their home, the deep,
SOCIETY. By night or day they ever fleep?
Learned man, whom once a week. A hundred virtuofos feek, And like an oracle apply to,
Task questions, and admire, and lye to: Who entertain'd them all of courie (As men take wives for better or worse) And past them all for men of parts,
Though fome but fceptics in their hearts; For, when they 're caft into a lump, Their talents equally must jump; .
Ver. 21, 522.] Butler, to compliment his Moufe for affording him an opportunity of indulging his fatirical turn, and difplaying his wit, upon this occafion, has, to the end of this Poem, fubjoined the following epigrammatical note:
A Moufe, whofe martial valour has fo long Ago been try'd, and by old Homer fung, And purchas'd him more everlasting glory Than all his Grecian and his Trojan ftory, Though he appears unequal matcht, I grant, In bulk and fature by the Elephant, Yet frequently has been obferv'd in battle To have reduc'd the proud and haughty cattle,
If grafs be green, or fnow be white, But only as they take the light? Whether pofleifions of the devil, Or mere temptations, do moft evil? What is 't that makes all fountains fill Within the earth to run up hill, But on the outfide down again, As if th' attempt had been in vain? Or what's the ftrange magnetic caufe The steel or loadftone 's drawn, or draws? The ftar the needle, which the floue Has only been but touch'd upon?
When, having boldly enter'd the redoubt, And ftorm'd the dreadful outwork of his The little vermin, like an errant-knight, Has fiain the huge gigantic beaf in fight. fatire upon the Royal Society, part of whet * Butler formed a defign of writing an find amongit his papers, fairly and cocort tranfcribed. Whether he ever finithed it, er remainder of it be loft, is uncertain: the Fu ment, however, that is preferved, my improperly be added in this place, as in fome explanatory of the preceding Poem: and, perfuaded, that those who have a taste for B turn and humour will think this too cance Fragment to be lost, though perhaps too perfect to be formally published.
hether the North-ftar's influence ith both does hold intelligence? or red-hot ir'n, held tow'rds the pole, irns of itself to 't when 'tis cool :) whether male and female fcrews th' iron and ftone th' effe&t produce? hat makes the body of the fim, at fuch a rapid coarfe does run, draw no tail behind through th' air, comets do, when they appear; hich other planets cannot do, caufe they do not burn, but glow? hether the Moon be fea or land, charcoal, or a quench'd firebrand; if the dark holes that appear,
e only pores, not cities there? hether the atmosphere turn round, nd keep a juít pace with the ground, r loiter lazily behind,
nd clog the air with gufts of wind? f whether crefcents in the wane or fo an author has it plain) o burn quite out, or wear away heir fnuffs upon the edge of day? 'hether the fea increafe, or waite, nd, if it do, how long 'twill last? r, if the fun approaches near he earth, how foon it will be there? Thefe were their learned fpeculations, nd all their conftant occupations, o meafure wind, and weigh the air, and turn a circle to a fquare;
o make a powder of the fun,
y which all doctors should b' undone ; o find the north-wcft paffage out, though the far theft way about;
f chemifts from a rofe's athes Can raife the rofe itfulf in glaffes? Whether the line of incidence Life from the object or the fenic? To ftew th' elixir in a bath Of hope, credulity, and faith; To explicate, by fubtle hints, The grain of diamonds and flints, And in the braving of an afs Find out the treble and the bafe; If mares neigh alto, and a cow A double diapafon lowe-
80 Here, faft imprifon'd in my glad embrace, And, while my joys beyond themselves were rapt, I know not how, nor whither, thou 'rt efcap'd; Stay, and I'll follow thee-With that he leapt Up from the lazy couch on which he flept, 85 And, wing'd with paffion, through his known purlieu,
Swift as an arrow from a bow, he flew, Nor ftopp'd, until his fire had him convey'd Where many an affignation he 'ad enjoy'd; 34 Where finding, what he fought, a mutual flame, That long had stay'd and call'd before he came, Impatient of delay, without one word, To lofe no further time, he fell aboard, But grip'd fo hard, he wounded what he lov'd, While fhe, in anger, thus his heat reprov'd. 40 C. Forbear, foul ravifher, this rude addrefs; Cauft thou, at once, both injure and carets? P. Thou haft bewitch'd me with thy powerful charms,
And, I, by drawing blood, would cure my harms. C. He that does love would fet his heart a-tilt, Ere one drop of his lady's fhould be spilt. 46 P. Your wounds are but without, and mine within;
You wound my heart, and I but prick your skin; And, while your eyes pierce deeper than my
You blame th' effect, of which you are the caufe.
REPARTEES BETWEEN CAT AND PUSS C. How could my guiltlefs eyes your heart invade,
In the modern Heroic way.
was about the middle age of night,
Had it not first been by your own betray'd? Hence 'tis my greatest crime has only been (Not in mine eyes, but yours) in being feen.
When half the earth ftood in the other's light, at the time our Author lived; the dialogues of
Repartees.] This poem is a fatirical banter upon thole heroic plays which were to much in vogue
which, having what they called Heroic Love for their fubject, are carried-on exactly in this ftrain, as any one may perceive that will confult the diamatic pieces of Dryden, Settle, and others.
P. Pain is more dear than pleafure when 'tis paft. C. But grows intolerable if it laft. P. Love is too full of honour to regard What it enjoys, but fuffers as reward.
What Knight durft ever own a lover's name, 65 That had not been half murther'd by his flame, Or lady, that had never lain at stake, To death, or force of rivals, for his fake? C. When love does meet with injury and pain, Difdain's the only medicine for difdain. P. At once I'm happy, and unhappy too, In being pleas'd, and in difpleafing you. C. Preposterous way of pleasure and of love, That contrary to its own end would move! Tis rather hate, that covets to destroy; Love's business is to love, and to enjoy, P. Enjoying and deftroying are all one, As flames destroy that which they feed upon. C. He never lov'd at any generous rate, That in th' enjoyment found his flame abate, 80 As wine (the friend of love) is wont to make The thirit more violent it pretends to flake, So fhould fruition do the lover's fire, Instead of leffening, inflame defire.
P. What greater proof that paffien does tranfport, When what I would die for I'm forc'd to hurt? C. Death among lovers is a thing despis'd,' And far below a fullen humour priz'd, That is more fcorn'd and rail'd at than the gods, When they are crofs'd in love, or fall at odds: go But fince you understand not what you do, I am the judge of what I feel, not you. P. Paffion begins indifferent to prove, When love confiders any thing but love. C. The darts of love, like lightning wound within, And, though they pierce it, never hurt the fkin; They leave no marks behind them where they fly, Though through the tendereft part of all, the eye; But your fharp claws have left enough to fhew How tender I have been, how cruel you. P. Pleasure is pain; for when it is enjoy'd, All it could with for was but to b' allay'd. C. Force is a rugged way of making love. P. What you like beft, you always difapprove. C. He that will wrong his love, will not be nice, 105 T' excufe the wrong he does, to wrong her twice. P. Nothing is wrong but that which is ill meant. C. Wounds are ill cured with a good intent, P. When you mistake that for an injury I never meant, you do the wrong, not I. C. You do not feel yourfelf the pain you give; But 'tis not that alone for which I grieve; But 'tis your want of paffion that I blame, That can be cruel where you own a flame, P. 'Tis you are guilty of that cruelty, Which you at once outdo, and blame in me; For, while you ftifle and inflame defire, You burn-and ftarve me in the feif-fame fire,
C. It is not I, but you, that do the hurt, Who wound yourfelf, and then accufe me for 't;1:0 As thieves, that rob themselves 'twixt fun and fan, Make others pay for what themselves have done.
UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE POEM OF
OU have obliged the British nation more Than all their bards could ever do before, And, at your own charge, monuments more hard Than brafs or marble to their fame have rear'd: For, as all warlike nations take delight To hear how brave their ancestors could fight, You have advanc'd to wonder their renown, And no lefs virtuously improv'd your own: For 'twill be doubted whether you do write, Or they have acted, at a nobler height, You of their ancient princes have retriev'd More than the ages knew in which they liv'd; Defcrib'd their customs and their rites anew, Better than all their Droids ever knew; Unriddled their dark pracles as well
As thofe themfelves that made them could foretell For as the Britons long have hop'd, in vain, Arthur would come to govern them again, You have fulfill'd their prophecy alone, And in this poem plac'd him on his throne. Such magic power has your prodigious pen, To raife the dead, and give new life to men Make rival princes meet in arms and love, Whom diftant ages did fo far remove; For as eternity has neither past Nor future (authors fay) nor first nor last, But is all inftant, your eternal Mufe All ages can to any one reduce. Then why should you, whofe miracle of art Can life at pleafure to the dead impart, Trouble in vain your better-bufied head T'obferve what time they liv'd in, or were dead! For, fince you have fuch arbitrary power, It were defect in judgment to go lower, Or ftoop to things fo pitifully lewd, As ufe to take the vulgar latitude.
* Moft of the celebrated wits in Charles the Second's reign addreffed this gentleman, in a ba tering way, upon his poeni called The Br Prinses,, and, among the reft, Butler,
here's no man fit to read what you have writ, That holds not fome proportion with your wit; slight can no way but by light appear,
e muft bring fenfe that understands it here. 40
Who ever shut thofe ftragglers in a room, Or put a circle about vacuum?
What should confine thofe undetermin'd crowds,45 And yet extend no further than the clouds? Who ever could have thought, but you aloue, A fign and an afcendant were all one?
Or how 'tis poffible the moon fhould throwd. Her face, to peep at Mars behind a cloud, Since clouds below are fo far diftant plac'd, They cannot hinder her from being barefac'd? Who ever did a language fo enrich, To fcorn all little particles of fpeech?
For though they make the fenfe clear, yet they 're found
DWARD HOWARD, Esq. To be a fcurvy hindrance to the found;
UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE POEM OF
Therefore you wifely fcorn your style to humble, Or for the fenfe's fake to wave the rumble. Had Homer known this art, he 'ad ne'er been fain To ufe fo many particles in vain,
HE BRITISH PRINCES. That to no purpofe ferve, but (as he haps
T is your pardon, Sir, for which my Muse Thrice humbly thus, in form of paper, fues; or, having felt the dead weight of your wit, he comes to afk forgiveness, and fubmit; forry for her faults, and, while I write, fourns in the black, does penance in the white: lut fuch is her belief in your just candor, he hopes you will not fo misunderstand her, To wreft her harmless meaning to the fenfe f filly emulation or offence.
Ho; your fufficient wit docs ftill declare elf too amply, they are mad that dare o vain and fenfelefs a prefumption own, o yoke your vaft parts in comparison: and yet you might have thought upon a way initract us how you'd have us to obey, nd not command our praifes, and then blame that's too great or little for your fame:
or who could chufe but err, without fome trick o take your elevation to a nick
s he that was defir'd, upon occafion, o make the Mayor of London an oration, lefir'd his Lordship's favour, that he might ake measure of his mouth to fit it right; », had you fent a fcantling of your wit, ou might have blam'd us if it did not fit; ut 'tis not just t' impofe, and then cry down that's unequal to your huge renown; he that writes below your vast desert, trays his own, and not your want of art. ale, like a robe of ftate, fhould not fit clofe oth' perfon 'tis made for, but wide and loofe; erves its comeliness from being unfit, nd fuch have been our praises of your wit; Ihich is fo extraordinary, no height f fancy but your own can do it right; itnefs thofe glorious poems you have writ, With equal judgment, learning, art, and wit, ad thofe ftupendous difcoveries
To want a fyllable) to fill up gaps. You justly coin new verbs, to pay for those Which in conftruction you o'erfee and lofe; And by this art do Prifcian no wrong When you break 's head, for 'tis as broad as long. Thefe are your own difcoveries, which none But fuch a Mufe as your's could hit upon, That can, in fpite of laws of art, or rules, Make things more intricate than all the schools: 70 For what have laws of art to do with you, More than the laws with honeft men and true? He that's a prince in poetry should strive To cry them down by his prerogative, And not fubmit to that which has no force But o'er delinquents and inferiors. Your poems will endure to be try'd
I' th' fire, like gold, and come forth purify'd; Can only to eternity pretend,
For they were never writ to any end. All other books bear an uncertain rate, But thofe you write are always fold by weight; Each word and fyllable brought to the scale, And valued to a fcruple in the fale:
For when the paper 's charg'd with your rich wit, 'Tis for all purposes and uses fit,
Has an abfterfive virtue to make clean Whatever Nature made in man obscene.
Boys find, b' experiment, no paper kite,
Falfe muftering of workmen by the day, Deduction out of wages, and dead pay For those that never liv'd; all which did come, By thrifty management, to no fmal! fum. You pall'd no lodgings down, to build them worle, Nor repair'd others, to repair your purfe,
DENHAM's As you were wont, till all you built appear'd 45
RECOVERY FROM HIS MADNESS*.
SIR, you've outliv'd fo defperate a fit
As none could do but an immortal wit;
Had your's been lefs, all helps had been in vain, And thrown away, though on a lefs fick brain; But you were fo far from receiving hurt, You grew improv'd, and much the better for 't. As when th' Arabian bird does facrifice, And burn himself in his own country's fpice, A maggot first breeds in his pregnant urn, Which after does to a young phœnix turn: So your hot brain, burnt in its native fire, Did life repew'd and vigorous youth acquire; And with fo much advantage, fome have guest, Your after-wit is like to be your best, And now expect far greater matters of ve Than the bought Cooper's Hill, or borrow'd Sophy;
Nor were your morals lefs improv'd, all pride And native infolence quite laid afide; And that ungovern'd outrage, that was wont All, that you durft with fafety, to affront. No China cupboard rudely overthrown, Nor lady tipp'd, by being accosted, down; No poct jeer'd, for feribbling amifs, With verfes forty times more lewd than his : Nor did your crutch give battle to your duns, And hold it out, where you had builta fconce; 30 Nor furioufly laid orange-wench aboard, For afking what in fruit and love you 'ad fcor'd; But all civility and complacence, More than you ever us'd before or fince. Befide, you never over-each'd the King One farthing, all the while, in reckoning, Nor brought-in falie accompt, with little tricks, Of paffing broken rubbish for whole bricks;
*It muft furprize the reader to find a writer of Butler's judgment attacking, in fo fevere and contemptuous a manner, the character of a poet to much efteemed as Sir John Denham was. what he charges him with be true, there is, indeed, fome room for fatire; but till there is fich a fpirit of bitternefs runs through the whole, bedes the cruelty of ridiculing an infirmity of this nature, as can be accounted for by nothing but fome perfonal quarrel or difguit. How far this weakness may carry the greatest geniufes, we have a proof in what Pope has written of Addifon.
Like that Amphion with his fiddle rear'd: For had the ftones (like his) charm'd by our verfe Built up themfelves, they could not have cost
And fure, when you first ventur'd to furvey, You did defign to do 't no other way.
All this was done before thofe days began In which you were a wife and happy man: For who e'er liv'd in such a paradife, Until fresh straw and darknefs op'd your eyes? Who ever greater treafure could command, 55 Had nobler palaces, and richer land, Than you had then, who couli raife fums as vaft As all the cheats of a Dutch war could waste, Or all thofe practis'd upon public money? For nothing, but your cure, could have undone ye, For ever are you bound to curfe thofe quacks That undertook to cure your happy cracks; For, though no art can ever make them found, The tampering coil you three icore thousand pond. How high might you have liv'd, and play'd, and loft,
Yet been no more undone by being chouft, Nor forc'd upon the King's accompt to lay All that, in ferving him, you loft at play! For nothing but your brain was ever found To fuffer fequeftration, and compound. Yet you 've an impofition laid on brick, For all you then laid out at Beaft or Gleek; And when you've rais'd a fum, ftrait let it fly, By understanding low, and venturing high; Until you have reduc'd it down to tick, And then recruit again from lime and brick.
Precifely by the Rules of the Ancients *.
HO ever will regard poetic fury,
When it is once found Idiot by a jury,
*This warm invective was very probably cafioned by Mr. Rymer, Hiftoriographer to Ca les II. who cenfared three tragedies of Beaumo and Fletcher's. The cold, fevere critic mas pe haps find fon e few inaccuracies to cenfure int compofition; but the reader of tafte wie overlook or pardon them for the fake of the ipat that runs through it.
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