What though the greedy fry Be taken with false baits Of worded balladry, And think it poesy? They die with their conceits, And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits. Then take in hand thy lyre, To give the world again : Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain. And since our dainty age Cannot indure 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. 8 With Japhet's line aspire Sol's chariot for new fire.] He means Prometheus, the son of Japetus, who, as the poets say, was assisted by Minerva, in the formation of his man, whom he animated with fire taken from the chariot of the Sun. WHAL. This spirited Ode was probably among our author's early performances. A part of the concluding stanza we have already had in the "Apologetical Dialogue" at the conclusion of the Poetaster; and the whole might be written about the period of the appearance of that drama. Jonson's dislike to the stage here breaks out :but, in truth, this is not the only passage from which we are authorized to collect that necessity alone led him to write for the theatres. resea XLII. THE MIND OF THE FRONTISPIECE TO A BOOK.9 ROM death and dark oblivion (near the same) Wise Providence would so that nor the good Of Truth, that searcheth the most hidden springs, And guided by Experience, whose straight wand Doth mete, whose line doth sound the depth of things; She cheerfully supporteth what she rears, Assisted by no strengths but are her own, 9 These lines are prefixed to sir Walter Raleigh's History of the World, fol. 1614: they are descriptive of the ornamental figures in the serious frontispiece to that volume, and can scarcely be understood without a reference to the plate itself. Jonson assisted Raleigh in this great work; and, indeed, there were not many literary undertakings of importance, in his days, to which "the envious Ben" did not liberally afford his aid. The folio has been corrected from Raleigh's copy. It seems that Whalley was not acquainted with the purport of this little piece, or with its appearance in any volume previously to that of 1641. XLIII. AN ODE TO JAMES EARL of Desmond.' HERE art thou, Genius? I should use Wake, and put on the wings of Pindar's To tower with my intention High as his mind, that doth advance My bolder numbers to thy golden lyre: Thy priest in this strange rapture! heat my brain That I may sing my thoughts in some unvulgar strain. 1 One of our author's earliest pieces. "It was written," (the folio says,) "in queen Elizabeth's time, since lost, and recovered." This earl was, I believe, the son of Gerald, sixteenth earl of Desmond, a most powerful nobleman, and a formidable rebel, who gave Elizabeth a world of uneasiness. He was, however, mastered at length, and his vast possessions, which extended over several counties, were in 1582 forfeited to the crown. His son James, the person, I presume, to whom this ode was addressed, was restored in blood and honour in 1600. From the allusions to his state of disfavour, and the call upon him to continue in his loyalty, and wait the reward of his virtue, the poem must have been written before that period. There is something prophetic in the last stanza: "If I auspiciously divine, As my hope tells-then our fair Phoebe's shine With lustrous graces Where darkness, with her gloomy-scepter'd hand, Rich beam of honour, shed your light Then shall my verses, like strong charms, And keeps your merit Lock'd in her cold embraces, from the view Who would with judgment search, searching conclude, As prov'd in you, True noblêsse. Palm grows straight, though handled ne'er so rude. Nor think yourself unfortunate; Of politic pretext, that wries a state, Sink not beneath these terrors : Of such as savour Nothing, but practise upon honour's thrall. When her dead essence, like the anatomy Is but a statist's theme to read phlebotomy. Let Brontes, and black Steropes, Sweat at the forge, their hammers beating; Though but while the metal's heating: Gold, that is perfect, will outlive the fire. No armour to the mind! he is shot-free That is not hurt; not he, that is not hit; Oft scape an imputation, more through luck than wit. But to yourself, most loyal lord, (Whose heart in that bright sphere flames Though many gems be in your bosom stor'd, As my hope tells, that our fair Phoebe's shine,' With lustrous graces, Where darkness, with her gloomy scepter'd hand, O then, my best-best lov'd let me importune, As far from all revolt, as you are now from fortune. H XLIV. AN ODE. IGH-SPIRITED friend, I send nor balms, nor corsives to your wound; Your faith hath found A gentler, and more agile hand, to tend The cure of that which is but corporal, 2 Our fair Phoebe's shine.] Whalley corrupted this into fair Phœbus' shine. Fair is not the best epithet for the god; but he did not see the author's meaning, nor that the allusion was to "the beautified" Elizabeth, who loved to be flattered with the appella tion of Phabe or Diana. |