Delphi Complete Works of Alexander Pope (Illustrated) E-Book

Alexander Pope

• Herausgeber: Delphi Classics
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: Delphi Poets Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 3165

Beschreibung

The greatest poet of the eighteenth century deserves a place in the digital library of all lovers of poetry. Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature’s finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents the complete poetical works of Alexander Pope, with beautiful illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)
* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Pope’s life and works
* Concise introductions to the poetry and other works
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Features all three versions of the major text THE DUNCIAD, appearing for the first time in digital print
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Includes Pope’s rare play
* Features three biographies – discover Pope’s literary life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
CONTENTS:
The Poetry Collections
EARLY POEMS
PASTORALS
WINDSOR FOREST
AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM
POEMS, 1708–17
THE RAPE OF THE LOCK
ELOISA TO ABELARD
POEMS: 1718–27
THE CURLL MISCELLANIES
POEMS SUGGESTED BY GULLIVER
LATER POEMS
EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS
AN ESSAY ON MAN
MORAL ESSAYS
SATIRES
THE DUNCIAD
THE ILIAD
THE ODYSSEY
The Poems
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
The Play
THREE HOURS AFTER MARRIAGE by John Gay, Alexander Pope and John Arbuthnot
The Biographies
Alexander Pope by Leslie Stephen
THE AGE OF POPE by John Dennis
BRIEF LIFE OF POPE by Thomas De Quincey

Leseprobe

Alexander Pope

(1688-1744)

Contents

The Poetry Collections

Early Poems

Pastorals

Windsor Forest

An Essay on Criticism

Poems, 1708–17

The Rape of the Lock

Eloisa to Abelard

Poems: 1718–27

The Curll Miscellanies

Poems Suggested by Gulliver

Later Poems

Epigrams and Epitaphs

An Essay on Man

Moral Essays

Satires

The Dunciad

The Iliad

The Odyssey

The Poems

List of Poems in Chronological Order

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

The Play

Three Hours After Marriage by John Gay, Alexander Pope and John Arbuthnot

The Biographies

Alexander Pope by Leslie Stephen

The Age of Pope by John Dennis

Brief Life of Pope by Thomas de Quincey

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

© Delphi Classics 2013

Version 1

Browse the entire series…

Alexander Pope

By Delphi Classics, 2013

COPYRIGHT

Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

First published in the United Kingdom in 2013 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2015.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 9781909496224

Delphi Classics

is an imprint of

Delphi Publishing Ltd

Hastings, East Sussex

United Kingdom

Contact: [email protected]

www.delphiclassics.com

NOTE

When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size and landscape mode, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

Interested in Eighteenth Century poetry?

Then you’ll love these eBooks…

For the first time in digital publishing history, Delphi Classics is proud to present the complete works of these important poets.

www.delphiclassics.com

The Poetry Collections

Plough Court, Lombard Street, London — Pope’s birthplace

A contemporary drawing of the birthplace. Pope’s father was a linen merchant, who operated his business from Plough Court.

Early Poems

Alexander Pope (1688-1744) was the son of a linen merchant with strong Catholic ties, directly affecting his son’s education.  Due to the recently enforced Test Acts, upholding the status of the established Church of England, all Catholics were banned from teaching, attending university, voting or holding public office on pain of perpetual imprisonment. Therefore, Pope was taught to read by his aunt, before attending Twyford School, followed by two Catholic schools in London. These schools were technically illegal, though they were tolerated in some areas.  Nevertheless, a university education was denied to Pope.

From an early age, he suffered numerous health problems, including a form of tuberculosis called Pott’s disease, which affects the bone.  This disease deformed his body and stunted his growth, leaving him with a severe hunchback and achieving a height of only 4 ft 6 in. The infection also caused other health problems, including respiratory difficulties, high fevers, inflamed eyes and abdominal pain.

In 1700, the Pope family moved to a small estate at Popeswood in Binfield, Berkshire, due to a statute preventing Catholics from living within ten miles of London. Pope’s formal education ended at this time, and from then on he mostly educated himself by reading the works of classical writers such as the Roman satirists Horace and Juvenal, the epic poets Homer and Virgil, as well as such English authors as Chaucer, Shakespeare and John Dryden. Pope also studied several languages, reading works by English, French, Italian, Latin and Greek authors. The extensive reading of classics and English masters influenced many of Pope’s early poetic works, demonstrating his natural affinity to handling various metres and rhyme schemes.

Popes Manor, previously called Whitehill House, where Pope lived as a youngster between 1700 and 1715

CONTENTS

Juvenile Poems

Ode on Solitude

A Paraphrase (On Thomas à Kempis)

To the Author of a Poem Entitled Successio

The First Book of Statius’s Thebais

Imitations of English Poets

Chaucer

Spenser: The Alley

Waller: On a Lady Singing to Her Lute

Waller: On a Fan of the Author’s Design

Cowley: The Garden

Cowley: Weeping

Earl of Rochester: On Silence

Earl of Dorset: Artemisia

Earl of Dorset: Phryne

Dr. Swift: The Happy Life of a Country Parson

Paraphrases from Chaucer

January and May; or, The Merchant’s Tale

The Wife of Bath

The Temple of Fame

Translations from Ovid

Sappho to Phaon

The Fable of Dryope

Vertumnus and Pomona

Pope, aged 7

Juvenile Poems

Ode on Solitude

This poem was written when Pope was twelve years old.

HAPPY the man whose wish and care  A few paternal acres bound,Content to breathe his native air        In his own ground.   5

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,  Whose flocks supply him with attire,Whose trees in summer yield him shade,        In winter fire.

Bless’d who can unconcern’dly find   10  Hours, days, and years slide soft away,In health of body, peace of mind,        Quiet by day;

Sound sleep by night: study and ease  Together mix’d; sweet recreation;   15And innocence, which most does please,        With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,  Thus unlamented let me die;Steal from the world, and not a stone   20

A Paraphrase (On Thomas à Kempis)

L. III. C. 2

Supposed to have been written in 1700; first published from the Caryll Papers in the Athenæum, July 15, 1854.

SPEAK, Gracious Lord, oh, speak; thy servant hears:  For I ‘m thy servant and I ‘ll still be so:Speak words of comfort in my willing ears;  And since my tongue is in thy praises slow,And since that thine all Rhetoric exceeds:   5Speak thou in words, but let me speak in deeds!

Nor speak alone, but give me grace to hear  What thy celestial Sweetness does impart;Let in not stop when enter’d at the ear,  But sink, and take deep rooting in my heart.   10As the parch’d Earth drinks rain (but grace afford)With such a gust will I receive thy word.

Nor with the Israelites shall I desire  Thy heav’nly word by Moses to receive,Lest I should die: but Thou who didst inspire   15  Moses himself, speak Thou, that I may live.Rather with Samuel I beseech with tears,Speak, gracious Lord, oh, speak, thy servant hears.

Moses, indeed, may say the words, but Thou  Must give the Spirit, and the Life inspire;   20Our Love to thee his fervent breath may blow,  But ‘t is thyself alone can give the fire:Thou without them may’st speak and profit too;But without thee what could the Prophets do?

They preach the Doctrine, but thou mak’st us do ‘t;   25  They teach the myst’ries thou dost open lay;The trees they water, but thou giv’st the fruit;  They to Salvation show the arduous way,But none but you can give us strength to walk;You give the Practice, they but give the Talk.   30

Let them be silent then; and thou alone,  My God! speak comfort to my ravish’d ears;Light of my eyes, my Consolation,  Speak when thou wilt, for still thy servant hears.Whate’er thou speak’st, let this be understood:   35Thy greater Glory, and my greater Good!

To the Author of a Poem Entitled Successio

         Elkanah Settle, celebrated as Doeg in Dryden’s Absalom and Achitophel, wrote Successio in honor of the incoming Brunswick dynasty. Warburton (or possibly Pope) in a note on Dunciad, I. 181, says that the poem was ‘written at fourteen years old, and soon after printed.’ A good instance of Pope’s economy of material will be found in the passage upon which that note bears: an adaptation of lines 4, 17 and 18 of this early poem. It was first published in Lintot’s Miscellanies, 1712.

BEGONE, ye Critics, and restrain your spite,Codrus writes on, and will forever write.The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone,As clocks run fastest when most lead is on;What tho’ no bees around your cradle flew,   5Nor on your lips distill’d their golden dew;Yet have we oft discover’d in their steadA swarm of drones that buzz’d about your head.When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.   10Wit pass’d thro’ thee no longer is the same,As meat digested takes a diff’rent name;But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,Since no reprisals can be made on thee.Thus thou may’st rise, and in thy daring flight   15(Tho’ ne’er so weighty) reach a wondrous height.So, forc’d from engines, lead itself can fly,And pond’rous slugs move nimbly thro’ the sky.Sure Bavius copied Mævius to the full,And Chærilus taught Codrus to be dull;   20Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o’erThis needless labour; and contend no moreTo prove a dull succession to be true,Since ‘t is enough we find it so in you.

The First Book of Statius’s Thebais

Translated in the Year 1703

Though Pope ascribes this translation to 1703, there is evidence that part of it was done as early as 1699. It was finally revised and published in 1712, but Courthope asserts that ‘it is fair to assume that the body of the composition is preserved in its original form.’

ARGUMENT

Œdipus, King of Thebes, having, by mistake, slain his father Laius, and married his mother Jocasta, put out his own eyes, and resign’d the realm to his sons Eteocles and Polynices. Being neglected by them, he makes his prayer to the Fury Tisiphone, to sow debate betwixt the brothers. They agree at last to reign singly, each a year by turns, and the first lot is obtain’d by Eteocles. Jupiter, in a council of the gods, declares his resolution of punishing the Thebans, and Argives also, by means of marriage betwixt Polynices and one of the daughters of Adrastus King of Argos. Juno opposes, but to no effect; and Mercury is sent on a message to the shades, to the ghost of Laius, who is to appear to Eteocles, and provoke him to break the agreement. Polynices, in the mean time, departs from Thebes by night, is overtaken by a storm, and arrives at Argos; where he meets with Tideus, who had fled from Calidon, having kill’d his brother. Adrastus entertains them, having receiv’d an oracle from Apollo that his daughters should be married to a boar and a lion, which he understands to be meant of these strangers, by whom the hides of those beasts were worn, and who arrived at the time when he kept an annual feast in honour of that god. The rise of this solemnity. He relates to his guests the loves of Phœbus and Psamathe, and the story of Chorœbus: he inquires, and is made acquainted, with their descent and quality. The sacrifice is renew’d, and the book concludes with a hymn to Apollo.

FRATERNAL rage, the guilty Thebes’ alarms,Th’ alternate reign destroy’d by impious armsDemand our song; a sacred fury firesMy ravish’d breast, and all the Muse inspires.O Goddess! say, shall I deduce my rhymes   5From the dire nation in its early times,Europa’s rape, Agenor’s stern decree,And Cadmus searching round the spacious sea?How with the serpent’s teeth he sow’d the soil,And reap’d an iron harvest of his toil;   10Or how from joining stones the city sprung,While to his harp divine Amphion sung?Or shall I Juno’s hate to Thebes resound,Whose fatal rage th’ unhappy monarch found?The sire against the son his arrows drew,   15O’er the wide fields the furious mother flew,And while her arms a second hope contain,Sprung from the rocks, and plunged into the main.  But waive whate’er to Cadmus may belong,And fix, O Muse! the barrier of thy song   20At Œdipus — from his disasters traceThe long confusions of his guilty race:Nor yet attempt to stretch thy bolder wing,And mighty Cæsar’s conquering eagles sing;How twice he tamed proud Ister’s rapid flood,   25While Dacian mountains stream’d with barb’rous blood:Twice taught the Rhine beneath his laws to roll,And stretch’d his empire to the frozen pole;Or, long before, with early valour stroveIn youthful arms t’ assert the cause of Jove.   30And thou, great heir of all thy father’s fame,Increase of glory to the Latian name,O! bless thy Rome with an eternal reign,Nor let desiring worlds entreat in vain!What tho’ the stars contract their heav’nly space,   35And crowd their shining ranks to yield thee place;Tho’ all the skies, ambitious of thy sway,Conspire to court thee from our world away;Tho’ Phœbus longs to mix his rays with thine,And in thy glories more serenely shine;   40Tho’ Jove himself no less content would beTo part his throne, and share his Heav’n with thee?Yet stay, great Cæsar! and vouchsafe to reignO’er the wide earth, and o’er the wat’ry main;Resign to Jove his empire of the skies,   45And people Heav’n with Roman deities.  The time will come when a diviner flameShall warm my breast to sing of Cæsar’s fame;Meanwhile permit that my preluding MuseIn Theban wars an humbler theme may choose.   50Of furious hate surviving death she sings,A fatal throne to two contending kings,And funeral flames that, parting wide in air,Express the discord of the souls they bear:Of towns dispeopled, and the wand’ring ghosts   55Of kings unburied in the wasted coasts;When Dirce’s fountain blush’d with Grecian blood,And Thetis, near Ismenos’ swelling flood,With dread beheld the rolling surges sweepIn heaps his slaughter’d sons into the deep.   60  What hero, Clio! wilt thou first relate?The rage of Tydeus, or the prophet’s fate?Or how, with hills of slain on every side,Hippomedon repell’d the hostile tide?Or how the youth, with ev’ry grace adorn’d,   65Untimely fell, to be forever mourn’d?Then to fierce Capaneus thy verse extend,And sing with horror his prodigious end.  Now wretched Œdipus, deprived of sight,Led a long death in everlasting night;   70But while he dwells where not a cheerful rayCan pierce the darkness, and abhors the day,The clear reflecting mind presents his sinIn frightful views, and makes it day within;Returning thoughts in endless circles roll,   75And thousand furies haunt his guilty soul:The wretch then lifted to th’ unpitying skiesThose empty orbs from whence he tore his eyes,Whose wounds, yet fresh, with bloody hands he strook,While from his breast these dreadful accents broke: — 80  ‘Ye Gods! that o’er the gloomy regions reign,Where guilty spirits feel eternal pain;Thou, sable Styx! whose livid streams are roll’dThrough dreary coasts, which I tho’ blind behold;Tisiphone! that oft has heard my prayer,   85Assist, if Œdipus deserve thy care.If you receiv’d me from Jocasta’s womb,And nurs’d the hope of mischiefs yet to come;If, leaving Polybus, I took my wayTo Cyrrha’s temple, on that fatal day   90When by the son the trembling father died,Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide;If I the Sphynx’s riddles durst explain,Taught by thyself to win the promis’d reign;If wretched I, by baleful furies led,   95With monstrous mixture stain’d my mother’s bed,For Hell and thee begot an impious brood,And with full lust those horrid joys renew’d,Then, self condemn’d, to shades of endless night,Forc’d from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight,   100Oh hear! and aid the vengeance I require,If worthy thee, and what thou might’st inspire.My sons their old unhappy sire despise,Spoil’d of his kingdom, and deprived of eyes;Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn,   105Whilst these exalt their sceptres o’er my urn;These sons, ye Gods! who with flagitious prideInsult my darkness and my groans deride.Art thou a father, unregarding Jove!And sleeps thy thunder in the realms above?   110Thou Fury! then some lasting curse entail,Which o’er their children’s children shall prevail;Place on their heads that crown distain’d with gore,Which these dire hands from my slain father tore;Go! and a parent’s heavy curses bear;   115Break all the bonds of Nature, and prepareTheir kindred souls to mutual hate and war.Give them to dare, what I might wish to see,Blind as I am, some glorious villany!Soon shalt thou find, if thou but arm their hands,   120Their ready guilt preventing thy commands:Couldst thou some great proportion’d mischief frame,They’d prove the father from whose loins they came.’  The Fury heard, while on Cocytus’ brinkHer snakes, untied, sulphureous waters drink;   125But at the summons roll’d her eyes around,And snatch’d the starting serpents from the ground.Not half so swiftly shoots along in airThe gliding lightning or descending star.Thro’ crowds of airy shades she wing’d her flight,   130And dark dominions of the silent night;Swift as she pass’d the flitting ghosts withdrew,And the pale spectres trembled at her view:To th’ iron gates of Tenarus she flies,There spreads her dusky pinions to the skies.   135The Day beheld, and, sick’ning at the sight,Veil’d her fair glories in the shades of night.Affrighted Atlas on the distant shoreTrembled, and shook the heav’ns and Gods he bore.Now from beneath Malea’s airy height   140Aloft she sprung, and steer’d to Thebes her flight;With eager speed the well known journey took,Nor here regrets the Hell she late forsook.A hundred snakes her gloomy visage shade,A hundred serpents guard her horrid head;   145In her sunk eyeballs dreadful meteors glow:Such rays from Phœbe’s bloody circle flow,When, lab’ring with strong charms, she shoots from highA fiery gleam, and reddens all the sky.Blood stain’d her cheeks, and from her mouth there came   150Blue steaming poisons, and a length of flame.From every blast of her contagious breathFamine and Drought proceed, and Plagues and Death.A robe obscene was o’er her shoulders thrown,A dress by Fates and Furies worn alone.   155She toss’d her meagre arms; her better handIn waving circles whirl’d a funeral brand;A serpent from her left was seen to rearHis flaming crest, and lash the yielding air.But when the Fury took her stand on high,   160Where vast Cithæron’s top salutes the sky,A hiss from all the snaky tire went round:The dreadful signal all the rocks rebound,And thro’ th’ Achaian cities send the sound.Œte, with high Parnassus, heard the voice;   165Eurotas’ banks remurmur’d to the noise;Again Leucothea shook at these alarms,And press’d Palæmon closer in her arms.Headlong from thence the glowing Fury springs,And o’er the Theban palace spreads her wings,   170Once more invades the guilty dome, and shroudsIts bright pavilions in a veil of clouds.Straight with the rage of all their race possest,Stung to the soul, the brothers start from rest,And all their furies wake within their breast:   175Their tortured minds repining Envy tears,And Hate, engender’d by suspicious Fears;And sacred thirst of Sway, and all the tiesOf Nature broke, and royal Perjuries;And impotent desire to reign alone,   180That scorns the dull reversion of a throne:Each would the sweets of sov’reign Rule devour,While Discord waits upon divided power.  As stubborn steers, by brawny ploughmen broke,And join’d reluctant to the galling yoke,   185Alike disdain with servile necks to bearTh’ unwonted weight, or drag the crooked share,But rend the reins, and bound a diff’rent way,And all the furrows in confusion lay:Such was the discord of the royal pair   190Whom fury drove precipitate to war.In vain the chiefs contrived a specious wayTo govern Thebes by their alternate sway:Unjust decree! while this enjoys the state,That mourns in exile his unequal fate,   195And the short monarch of a hasty yearForesees with anguish his returning heir.Thus did the league their impious arms restrain,But scarce subsisted to the second reign.  Yet then no proud aspiring piles were rais’d,   200No fretted roofs with polish’d metals blazed;No labour’d columns in long order placed,No Grecian stone the pompous arches graced;No nightly bands in glitt’ring armour waitBefore the sleepless tyrant’s guarded gate;   205No charges then were wrought in burnish’d gold,Nor silver vases took the forming mould;Nor gems on bowls emboss’d were seen to shine,Blaze on the brims, and sparkle in the wine.Say, wretched rivals! what provokes your rage?   210Say to what end your impious arms engage?Not all bright Phœbus views in early morn,Or when his ev’ning beams the west adorn,When the South glows with his meridian ray,And the cold North receives a fainter day — 215For crimes like these not all those realms suffice,Were all those realms the guilty victor’s prize!  But Fortune now (the lots of empire thrown)Decrees to proud Eteocles the crown.What joys, O Tyrant! swell’d thy soul that day,   220When all were slaves thou could’st around survey,Pleas’d to behold unbounded power thy own,And singly fill a fear’d and envied throne!  But the vile vulgar, ever discontent,Their growing fears in secret murmurs vent;   225Still prone to change, tho’ still the slaves of state,And sure the monarch whom they have to hate;New lords they madly make, then tamely bear,And softly curse the tyrants whom they fear.And one of those who groan beneath the sway   230Of kings imposed, and grudgingly obey,(Whom Envy to the great, and vulgar Spite,With Scandal arm’d, th’ ignoble mind’s delight)Exclaim’d—”O Thebes! for thee what fates remain,What woes attend this unauspicious reign?   235Must we, alas! our doubtful necks prepareEach haughty master’s yoke by turns to bear,And still to change whom changed we still must fear?These now control a wretched people’s fate,These can divide, and these reverse the state:   240Ev’n Fortune rules no more — O servile land,Where exiled tyrants still by turns command!Thou Sire of Gods and men, imperial Jove!Is this th’ eternal doom decreed above?On thy own offspring hast thou fix’d this fate   245From the first birth of our unhappy state,When banish’d Cadmus, wand’ring o’er the main,For lost Europa search’d the world in vain,And fated in Bœotian fields to foundA rising empire on a foreign ground,   250First rais’d our walls on that ill-omen’d plainWhere earth-born brothers were by brothers slain?What lofty looks th’ unrivall’d monarch bears!How all the Tyrant in his face appears!What sullen fury clouds his scornful brow!   255Gods! how his eyes with threat’ning ardour glow!Can this imperious lord forget to reign,Quit all his state, descend, and serve again?Yet who before more popularly bow’d?Who more propitious to the suppliant crowd?   260Patient of right, familiar in the throne,What wonder then? he was not then alone.Oh wretched we! a vile submissive train,Fortune’s tame fools, and slaves in every reign!  ‘As when two winds with rival force contend,   265This way and that the wavering sails they bend,While freezing Boreas and black Eurus blow,Now here, now there the reeling vessel throw;Thus on each side, alas! our tott’ring stateFeels all the fury of resistless Fate,   270And doubtful still, and still distracted stands,While that prince threatens, and while this commands.’  And now th’ almighty Father of the GodsConvenes a council in the bless’d abodes.Far in the bright recesses of the skies,   275High o’er the rolling heav’ns, a mansion lies,Whence, far below, the Gods at once surveyThe realms of rising and declining day,And all th’ extended space of earth, and air, and sea.Full in the midst, and on a starry throne,   280The Majesty of Heav’n superior shone:Serene he look’d, and gave an awful nod,And all the trembling spheres confess’d the God.At Jove’s assent the deities aroundIn solemn state the consistory crown’d.   285Next a long order of inferior powersAscend from hills, and plains, and shady bowers;Those from whose urns the rolling rivers flow,And those that give the wand’ring winds to blow:Here all their rage and ev’n their murmurs cease,   290And sacred Silence reigns, and universal Peace.A shining synod of majestic GodsGilds with new lustre the divine abodes:Heav’n seems improv’d with a superior ray,And the bright arch reflects a double day.   295The Monarch then his solemn silence broke,The still creation listen’d while he spoke;Each sacred accent bears eternal weight,And each irrevocable word is Fate.  ‘How long shall man the wrath of Heav’n defy,   300And force unwilling vengeance from the sky?O race confed’rate into crimes, that proveTriumphant o’er th’ eluded rage of Jove!This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain,And unregarded thunder rolls in vain:   305Th’ o’erlabour’d Cyclop from his task retires,Th’ Æolian forge exhausted of its fires.For this I suffer’d Phœbus’ steeds to stray,And the mad ruler to misguide the day,When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turn’d,   310And Heav’n itself the wand’ring chariot burn’d;For this my brother of the wat’ry reignReleas’d th’ impetuous sluices of the main;But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain.Two races now, allied to Jove, offend;   315To punish these, see Jove himself descend.The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace,From godlike Perseus those of Argive race.Unhappy Cadmus’ fate who does not know,And the long series of succeeding woe?   320How oft the Furies from the deeps of nightArose, and mix’d with men in mortal fight;Th’ exulting mother stain’d with filial blood,The savage hunter and the haunted wood?The direful banquet why should I proclaim,   325And crimes that grieve the trembling Gods to name?Ere I recount the sins of these profane,The sun would sink into the western main,And, rising, gild the radiant east again.Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed)   330The murd’ring son ascend his parent’s bed,Thro’ violated Nature force his way,And stain the sacred womb where once he lay?Yet now in darkness and despair he groans,And for the crimes of guilty Fate atones;   335His sons with scorn their eyeless father view,Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew.Thy curse, O Œdipus! just Heav’n alarms,And sets th’ avenging Thunderer in arms.I from the root thy guilty race will tear,   340And give the nations to the waste of war.Adrastus soon, with Gods averse, shall joinIn dire alliance with the Theban line;Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed;The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed:   345Fix’d is their doom. This all-rememb’ring breastYet harbours vengeance for the tyrant’s feast.’  He said; and thus the Queen of Heav’n return’d(With sudden grief her lab’ring bosom burn’d):‘Must I, whose cares Phoroneus’ towers defend,   350Must I, O Jove! in bloody wars contend?Thou know’st those regions my protection claim,Glorious in Arms, in Riches, and in Fame:Tho’ there the fair Egyptian heifer fed,And there deluded Argus slept and bled;   355Tho’ there the brazen tower was storm’d of old,When Jove descended in almighty gold!Yet I can pardon those obscurer rapes,Those bashful crimes disguis’d in borrow’d shapes;But Thebes, where, shining in celestial charms,   360Thou camest triumphant to a mortal’s arms,When all my glories o’er her limbs were spread,And blazing lightnings danced around her bed;Curs’d Thebes the vengeance it deserves may prove — Ah! why should Argos feel the rage of Jove?   365Yet since thou wilt thy sister-queen control,Since still the lust of Discord fires thy soul,Go, raze my Samos, let Mycene fall,And level with the dust the Spartan wall;No more let mortals Juno’s power invoke,   370Her fanes no more with eastern incense smoke,Nor victims sink beneath the sacred stroke;But to your Isis all my rights transfer,Let altars blaze and temples smoke for her!For her, thro’ Egypt’s fruitful clime renown’d,   375Let weeping Nilus hear the timbrel sound.But if thou must reform the stubborn times,Avenging on the sons the fathers’ crimes,And from the long records of distant ageDerive incitements to renew thy rage;   380Say, from what period then has Jove design’dTo date his vengeance? to what bounds confin’d?Begin from thence, where first Alpheus hidesHis wand’ring stream, and thro’ the briny tidesUnmix’d to his Sicilian river glides.   385Thy own Arcadians there the thunder claim,Whose impious rites disgrace thy mighty name;Who raise thy temples where the chariot stoodOf fierce Œnomaüs, defil’d with blood;Where once his steeds their savage banquet found,   390And human bones yet whiten all the ground.Say, can those honours please? and canst thou lovePresumptuous Crete, that boasts the tomb of Jove?And shall not Tantalus’s kingdoms shareThy wife and sister’s tutelary care?   395Reverse, O Jove! thy too severe decree,Nor doom to war a race derived from thee;On impious realms and barb’rous kings imposeThy plagues, and curse them with such sons as those.’  Thus in reproach and prayer the Queen exprest   400The rage and grief contending in her breast;Unmov’d remain’d the Ruler of the Sky,And from his throne return’d this stern reply:‘T was thus I deem’d thy haughty soul would bearThe dire tho’ just revenge which I prepare   405Against a nation thy peculiar care:No less Dione might for Thebes contend,Nor Bacchus less his native town defend;Yet these in silence see the Fates fulfilTheir work, and rev’rence our superior will:   410For by the black infernal Styx I swear(That dreadful oath which binds the Thunderer)‘T is fix’d, th’ irrevocable doom of Jove;No Force can bend me, no Persuasion move.Haste then, Cyllenius, thro’ the liquid air;   415Go, mount the winds, and to the shades repair;Bid Hell’s black monarch my commands obey,And give up Laius to the realms of day,Whose ghost yet shiv’ring on Cocytus’ sandExpects its passage to the further strand:   420Let the pale sire revisit Thebes, and bearThese pleasing orders to the tyrant’s ear;That from his exiled brother, swell’d with prideOf foreign forces and his Argive bride,Almighty Jove commands him to detain   425The promis’d empire, and alternate reign:Be this the cause of more than mortal hate;The rest succeeding times shall ripen into Fate.’  The God obeys, and to his feet appliesThose golden wings that cut the yielding skies;   430His ample hat his beamy locks o’erspread,And veil’d the starry glories of his head.He seiz’d the wand that causes sleep to fly,Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye;That drives the dead to dark Tartarean coasts,   435Or back to life compels the wand’ring ghosts.Thus thro’ the parting clouds the son of MayWings on the whistling winds his rapid way;Now smoothly steers thro’ air his equal flight,Now springs aloft, and towers th’ ethereal height;   440Then wheeling down the steep of heav’n he flies,And draws a radiant circle o’er the skies.  Meantime the banish’d Polynices roves(His Thebes abandon’d) thro’ th’ Aonian groves,While future realms his wand’ring thoughts delight,   445His daily vision, and his dream by night.Forbidden Thebes appears before his eye,From whence he sees his absent brother fly,With transport views the airy rule his own,And swells on an imaginary throne.   450Fain would he cast a tedious age away,And live out all in one triumphant day:He chides the lazy progress of the sun,And bids the year with swifter motion run:With anxious hopes his craving mind is tost,   455And all his joys in length of wishes lost.  The hero then resolves his course to bendWhere ancient Danaus’ fruitful fields extend,And famed Mycene’s lofty towers ascend(Where late the sun did Atreus’ crimes detest,   460And disappear’d in horror of the feast);And now by Chance, by Fate, or Furies led,From Bacchus’ consecrated caves he fled,Where the shrill cries of frantic matrons sound,And Pentheus’ blood enrich’d the rising ground;   465Then sees Cithæron towering o’er the plain,And thence declining gently to the main;Next to the bounds of Nisus’ realm repairs,Where treach’rous Scylla cut the purple hairs;The hanging cliffs of Scyron’s rock explores,   470And hears the murmurs of the diff’rent shores;Passes the strait that parts the foaming seas,And stately Corinth’s pleasing site surveys.  ‘T was now the time when Phœbus yields to night,And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light;   475Wide o’er the world in solemn pomp she drewHer airy chariot, hung with pearly dew:All birds and beasts lie hush’d: sleep steals awayThe wild desires of men, and toils of day,And brings, descending thro’ the silent air,   480A sweet forgetfulness of human care.Yet no red clouds, with golden borders gay,Promise the skies the bright return of day;No faint reflections of the distant lightStreak with long gleams the scatt’ring shades of night;   485From the damp earth impervious vapours rise,Increase the darkness, and involve the skies.At once the rushing winds with roaring soundBurst from th’ Æolian caves, and rend the ground;With equal rage their airy quarrel try,   490And win by turns the kingdom of the sky.But with a thicker night black Auster shroudsThe heav’ns, and drives on heaps the rolling cloudsFrom whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours,Which the cold north congeals to haily showers:   495From pole to pole the thunder roars aloud,And broken lightnings flash from every cloud.Now smokes with showers the misty mountain-ground,And floated fields lie undistinguish’d round;Th’ Inachian streams with headlong fury run,   500And Erasinus rolls a deluge on;The foaming Lerna swells above its bounds,And spreads its ancient poisons o’er the grounds;Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play,Rush thro’ the mounds, and bear the dams away;   505Old limbs of trees, from crackling forests torn,Are whirl’d in air, and on the winds are borne;The storm the dark Lycæan groves display’d,And first to light exposed the sacred shade.Th’ intrepid Theban hears the bursting sky,   510Sees yawning rocks in massy fragments fly,And views astonish’d, from the hills afar,The floods descending, and the wat’ry war,That, driv’n by storms and pouring o’er the plain,Swept herds, and hinds, and houses to the main.   515Thro’ the brown horrors of the night he fled,Nor knows, amaz’d, what doubtful path to tread;His brother’s image to his mind appears,Inflames his heart with rage, and wings his feet with fears.  So fares the sailor on the stormy main,   520When clouds conceal Boütes’ golden wain,When not a star its friendly lustre keeps,Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps;He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies,While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies.   525  Thus strove the chief, on ev’ry side distress’d;Thus still his courage with his toils increas’d.With his broad shield opposed, he forced his wayThro’ thickest woods, and rous’d the beasts of prey,Till he beheld where from Larissa’s height   530The shelving walls reflect a glancing light.Thither with haste the Theban hero flies;On this side Lerna’s pois’nous water lies,On that Prosymna’s grove and temple rise.He pass’d the gates which then unguarded lay,   535And to the regal palace bent his way;On the cold marble, spent with toil, he lies,And waits till pleasing slumbers seal his eyes.  Adrastus here his happy people sways,Bless’d with calm peace in his declining days;   540By both his parents of descent divine,Great Jove and Phœbus graced his noble line:Heav’n had not crown’d his wishes with a son,But two fair daughters heir’d his state and throne.To him Apollo (wondrous to relate!   545But who can pierce into the depths of fate?)Had sung—’Expect thy sons on Argos’ shore,A yellow lion and a bristly boar.’This long revolv’d in his paternal breast,Sat heavy on his heart, and broke his rest;   550This, great Amphiaraus! lay hid from thee,Tho’ skill’d in fate and dark futurity.The father’s care and prophet’s art were vain,For thus did the predicting God ordain.  Lo, hapless Tydeus! whose ill-fated hand   555Had slain his brother, leaves his native land,And, seiz’d with horror in the shades of night,Thro’ the thick deserts headlong urged his flight:Now by the fury of the tempest driv’n,He seeks a shelter from th’ inclement heav’n,   560Till, led by fate, the Theban’s steps he treads,And to fair Argos’ open courts succeeds.  When thus the chiefs from diff’rent lands resortT’ Adrastus’ realms and hospitable court,The King surveys his guests with curious eyes,   565And views their arms and habit with surprise.A lion’s yellow skin the Theban wears,Horrid his mane, and rough with curling hairs;Such once employ’d Alcides’ youthful toils,Ere yet adorn’d with Nemea’s dreadful spoils.   570A boar’s stiff hide, of Calydonian breed,Oenides’ manly shoulders overspread;Oblique his tusks, erect his bristles stood,Alive the pride and terror of the wood.  Struck with the sight, and fix’d in deep amaze,   575The King th’ accomplish’d oracle surveys,Reveres Apollo’s vocal caves, and ownsThe guiding godhead and his future sons.O’er all his bosom secret transports reign,And a glad horror shoots thro’ ev’ry vein:   580To Heav’n he lifts his hands, erects his sight,And thus invokes the silent Queen of Night: —   ‘Goddess of shades! beneath whose gloomy reignYon spangled arch glows with the starry train;You who the cares of Heav’n and Earth allay,   585Till Nature, quicken’d by th’ inspiring ray,Wakes to new vigour with the rising day;O thou who freest me from my doubtful state,Long lost and wilder’d in the maze of Fate,Be present still, O Goddess! in our aid;   590Proceed, and ‘firm those omens thou hast made.We to thy name our annual rites will pay,And on thy altars sacrifices lay;The sable flock shall fall beneath the stroke,And fill thy temples with a grateful smoke.   595Hail, faithful Tripos! hail, ye dark abodesOf awful Phœbus; I confess the Gods!’  Thus, seiz’d with sacred fear, the Monarch pray’d;Then to his inner court the guests convey’d,Where yet thin fumes from dying sparks arise,   600And dust yet white upon each altar lies,The relics of a former sacrifice.The King once more the solemn rites requires,And bids renew the feasts and wake the fires.His train obey; while all the courts around   605With noisy care and various tumult sound.Embroider’d purple clothes the golden beds;This slave the floor, and that the table spreads;A third dispels the darkness of the night,And fills depending lamps with beams of light;   610Here loaves in canisters are piled on high,And there in flames the slaughter’d victims fly.Sublime in regal state Adrastus shone,Stretch’d on rich carpets on his ivory throne;A lofty couch receives each princely guest;   615Around, at awful distance, wait the rest.  And now the King, his royal feast to grace,Acestis calls, the guardian of his race,Who first their youth in arts of Virtue train’d,And their ripe years in modest Grace maintain’d;   620Then softly whisper’d in her faithful ear,And bade his daughters at the rites appear.When from the close apartments of the nightThe royal nymphs approach divinely bright,Such was Diana’s, such Minerva’s face,   625Nor shine their beauties with superior grace,But that in these a milder charm endears,And less of terror in their looks appears.As on the heroes first they cast their eyes,O’er their fair cheeks the glowing blushes rise;   630Their downcast looks a decent shame confest,Then on their father’s rev’rend features rest.  The banquet done, the Monarch gives the signTo fill the goblet high with sparkling wine.Which Danaus used in sacred rites of old,   635With sculpture graced, and rough with rising gold.Here to the clouds victorious Perseus flies,Medusa seems to move her languid eyes,And ev’n in gold, turns paler as she dies:There from the chase Jove’s towering eagle bears,   640On golden wings, the Phrygian to the stars;Still as he rises in th’ ethereal height,His native mountains lessen to his sight,While all his sad companions upward gaze,Fix’d on the glorious scene in wild amaze,   645And the swift hounds, affrighted as he flies,Run to the shade, and bark against the skies.  This golden bowl with gen’rous juice was crown’d,The first libation sprinkled on the ground;By turns on each celestial Power they call;   650With Phœbus’ name resounds the vaulted hall.The courtly train, the strangers, and the rest,Crown’d with chaste laurel, and with garlands drest,While with rich gums the fuming altars blaze,Salute the God in numerous hymns of praise.   655  Then thus the King: ‘Perhaps, my noble guests,These honour’d altars, and these annual feastsTo bright Apollo’s awful name design’d,Unknown, with wonder may perplex your mind.Great was the cause: our old solemnities   660From no blind zeal or fond tradition rise;But saved from death, our Argives yearly payThese grateful honours to the God of Day.  ‘When by a thousand darts the Python slainWith orbs unroll’d lay cov’ring all the plain,   665(Transfix’d as o’er Castalia’s streams he hung,And suck’d new poisons with his triple tongue)To Argos’ realms the victor God resorts,And enters old Crotopus’ humble courts.This rural prince one only daughter bless’d,   670That all the charms of blooming youth possess’d;Fair was her face, and spotless was her mind,Where filial love with virgin sweetness join’d.Happy! and happy still she might have prov’d,Were she less beautiful, or less belov’d!   675But Phœbus lov’d, and on the flowery sideOf Nemea’s stream the yielding Fair enjoy’d.Now ere ten moons their orb with light adorn,Th’ illustrious offspring of the God was born;The nymph, her father’s anger to evade,   680Retires from Argos to the sylvan shade;To woods and wilds the pleasing burden bears,And trusts her infant to a shepherd’s cares.  ‘How mean a fate, unhappy child, is thine!Ah! how unworthy those of race divine!   685On flow’ry herbs in some green covert laid,His bed the ground, his canopy the shade,He mixes with the bleating lambs his cries,While the rude swain his rural music tries,To call soft slumbers on his infant eyes.   690Yet ev’n in those obscure abodes to liveWas more, alas! than cruel Fate would give;For on the grassy verdure as he lay,And breathed the freshness of the early day,Devouring dogs the helpless infant tore,   695Fed on his trembling limbs, and lapp’d the gore.Th’ astonish’d mother, when the rumour came,Forgets her father, and neglects her fame;With loud complaints she fills the yielding air,And beats her breast, and rends her flowing hair;   700Then wild with anguish to her sire she flies,Demands the sentence, and contented dies.  ‘But touch’d with sorrow for the dead too late,The raging God prepares t’ avenge her fate.He sends a monster horrible and fell,   705Begot by furies in the depths of Hell.The pest a virgin’s face and bosom bears;High on her crown a rising snake appears,Guards her black front, and hisses in her hairs.About the realm she walks her dreadful round,   710When night with sable wings o’erspreads the ground,Devours young babes before their parents’ eyes,And feeds and thrives on public miseries.  ‘But gen’rous rage the bold Chorœbus warms,Chorœbus! famed for virtue as for arms;   715Some few like him, inspired with martial flame,Thought a short life well lost for endless fame.These, where two ways in equal parts divide,The direful monster from afar descried,Two bleeding babes depending at her side;   720Whose panting vitals, warm with life, she draws,And in their hearts imbrues her cruel claws.The youths surround her with extended spears;But brave Chorœbus in the front appears;Deep in her breast he plunged his shining sword,   725And Hell’s dire monster back to Hell restor’d.Th’ Inachians view the slain with vast surprise,Her twisting volumes and her rolling eyes,Her spotted breast and gaping womb imbruedWith livid poison and our children’s blood.   730The crowd in stupid wonder fix’d appear,Pale ev’n in joy, nor yet forget to fear.Some with vast beams the squalid corse engage,And weary all the wild efforts of rage.The birds obscene, that nightly flock’d to taste,   735With hollow screeches fled the dire repast;And rav’nous dogs, allured by scented blood,And starving wolves, ran howling to the wood.  ‘But fired with rage, from cleft Parnassus’ browAvenging Phœbus bent his deadly bow,   740And hissing flew the feather’d fates below.A night of sultry clouds involv’d aroundThe towers, the fields, and the devoted ground:And now a thousand lives together fled,Death with his scythe cut off the fatal thread,   745And a whole province in his triumph led.  ‘But Phœbus, ask’d why noxious fires appearAnd raging Sirius blasts the sickly year,Demands their lives by whom his monster fell,And dooms a dreadful sacrifice to Hell.   750  ‘Bless’d be thy dust, and let eternal fameAttend thy Manes, and preserve thy Name,Undaunted Hero! who, divinely brave,In such a cause disdain’d thy life to save,But view’d the shrine with a superior look,   755And its upbraided godhead thus bespoke:“With Piety, the soul’s securest guard,And conscious Virtue, still its own reward,Willing I come, unknowing how to fear,Nor shalt thou, Phœbus, find a suppliant here:   760Thy monster’s death to me was owed alone,And ‘t is a deed too glorious to disown.Behold him here, for whom, so many days,Impervious clouds conceal’d thy sullen rays;For whom, as man no longer claim’d thy care,   765Such numbers fell by pestilential air!But if th’ abandon’d race of human kindFrom Gods above no more compassion find;If such inclemency in Heav’n can dwell,Yet why must unoffending Argos feel   770The vengeance due to this unlucky steel?On me, on me, let all thy fury fall,Nor err from me, since I deserve it all:Unless our desert cities please thy sight,Or funeral flames reflect a grateful light.   775Discharge thy shafts, this ready bosom rend,And to the shades a ghost triumphant send:But for my country let my fate atone;Be mine the vengeance, as the crime my own.”  ‘Merit distress’d impartial Heav’n relieves:   780Unwelcome life relenting Phœbus gives;For not the vengeful Power, that glow’d with rage,With such amazing virtue durst engage.The clouds dispers’d, Apollo’s wrath expired,And from the wond’ring God th’ unwilling youth retired.   785Thence we these altars in his temple raise,And offer annual honours, feasts, and praise;These solemn feasts propitious Phœbus please;These honours, still renew’d, his ancient wrath appease.  ‘But say, illustrious guest! (adjoin’d the King)   790What name you bear, from what high race you spring?The noble Tydeus stands confess’d, and knownOur neighbour prince, and heir of Calydon:Relate your fortunes, while the friendly nightAnd silent hours to various talk invite.’   795  The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes,Confused, and sadly thus at length replies: — ‘Before these altars how shall I proclaim,O gen’rous Prince! my nation or my name,Or thro’ what veins our ancient blood has roll’d?   800Let the sad tale for ever rest untold!Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown,You seek to share in sorrows not your own,Know then from Cadmus I derive my race,Jocasta’s son, and Thebes my native place.’   805To whom the King (who felt his gen’rous breastTouch’d with concern for his unhappy guest)Replies—’Ah! why forbears the son to nameHis wretched father, known too well by Fame?Fame, that delights around the world to stray,   810Scorns not to take our Argos in her way.Ev’n those who dwell where suns at distance roll,In northern wilds, and freeze beneath the pole,And those who tread the burning Libyan lands,The faithless Syrtes, and the moving sands;   815Who view the western sea’s extremest bounds,Or drink of Ganges in their eastern grounds;All these the woes of Œdipus have known,Your fates, your furies, and your haunted town.If on the sons the parents’ crimes descend,   820What prince from those his lineage can defend?Be this thy comfort, that ‘t is thine t’ efface,With virtuous acts, thy ancestors’ disgrace,And be thyself the honour of thy race.But see! the stars begin to steal away,   825And shine more faintly at approaching day;Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful laysOnce more resound the great Apollo’s praise.’  ‘O father Phœbus! whether Lycia’s coastAnd snowy mountains thy bright presence boast;   830Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair,And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair;Or pleas’d to find fair Delos float no more,Delight in Cynthus and the shady shore;Or choose thy seat in Ilion’s proud abodes,   835The shining structures rais’d by lab’ring Gods:By thee the bow and mortal shafts are borne;Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn;Skill’d in the laws of secret Fate above,And the dark counsels of almighty Jove.   840‘T is thine the seeds of future war to know,The change of sceptres and impending woe,When direful meteors spread thro’ glowing airLong trails of light, and shake their blazing hair.Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durst aspire   845T’ excel the music of thy heav’nly lyre;Thy shafts avenged lewd Tityus’ guilty flame,Th’ immortal victim of thy mother’s fame;Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lostHer numerous offspring for a fatal boast.   850In Phlegyas’ doom thy just revenge appears,Condemn’d to furies and eternal fears;He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye,The mould’ring rock that trembles from on high.  Propitious hear our prayer, O Power divine!   855And on thy hospitable Argos shine;Whether the style of Titan please thee more,

Imitations of English Poets

Chaucer

         These imitations, with the exception of Silence (Lintot, 1712), were not published till 1727. Pope says, however, that they were ‘done as early as the translations, some of them at fourteen and fifteen years old.’ The Happy Life of a Country Parson must have been written later than the rest, as Pope did not know Swift till 1713.

WOMEN ben full of ragerie,Yet swinken not sans secresie.Thilke Moral shall ye understond,From schoole-boy’s Tale of fayre Irelond;Which to the Fennes hath him betake,   5To filche the grey Ducke fro the Lake.Right then there passen by the wayHis Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.Ducke in his trowses hath he hent,Not to be spied of ladies gent.   10  ‘But ho! our Nephew,’ crieth one;‘Ho!’ quoth another, ‘Cozen John;’And stoppen, and lough, and callen out — This sely Clerke full low doth lout:They asken that, and talken this,   15‘Lo, here is Coz, and here is Miss.’But, as he glozeth with speeches soote,The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse-roote:Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,Forth thrust a white neck and red crest.   20‘Te-hee,’ cried ladies; clerke nought spake;Miss stared, and grey Ducke crieth ‘quaake.’‘O Moder, Moder!’ quoth the Daughter,‘Be thilke same thing Maids longen a’ter?Bette is to pine on coals and chalke,   25

Spenser: The Alley

IN ev’ry Town where Thamis rolls his tyde,A narrow pass there is, with houses low,Where ever and anon the stream is eyed,And many a boat soft sliding to and fro:There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,   5The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall:How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so?Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall,And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.

And on the broken pavement, here and there,   10Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;A brandy and tobacco shop is neare,And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by;And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry.At ev’ry door are sunburnt matrons seen,   15Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between;Scolds answer foul-mouth’d Scolds; bad neighbourhood I ween.

The snappish cur (the passengers’ annoy)Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;   20The whimp’ring Girl, and hoarser screaming Boy,Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries;The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;   25The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in the deep bass are drown’d.

Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch,Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early daysBaskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,   30Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:There learn’d she speech from tongues that never cease.Slander beside her like a magpie chatters,With Envy (spitting cat), dread foe to peace;Like a curs’d cur, Malice before her clatters,   35And vexing ev’ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.

Her dugs were mark’d by ev’ry Collier’s hand,Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:She scratchëd, bit, and spared ne lace ne band,And bitch and rogue her answer was to all.   40Nay, ev’n the parts of shame by name would call:Yea, when she passëd by or lane or nook,Would greet the man who turn’d him to the wall,And by his hand obscene the porter took,Nor ever did askance like modest virgin look.   45

Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,And Twick’nam such, which fairer scenes enrich,Grots, statues, urns, and Jo — n’s dog and bitch.   50Ne village is without, on either side,All up the silver Thames, or all adown;Ne Richmond’s self, from whose tall front are eyedVales, spires, meand’ring streams, and Windsor’s tow’ry pride.

Waller: On a Lady Singing to Her Lute

FAIR Charmer, cease! nor make your Voice’s prizeA heart resign’d the conquest of your Eyes:Well might, alas! that threaten’d vessel fail,Which winds and lightning both at once assail.We were too bless’d with these enchanting lays,   5Which must be heav’nly when an Angel plays:But killing charms your lover’s death contrive,Lest heav’nly music should be heard alive.Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree,Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he;   10A poet made the silent wood pursue;This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.

Waller: On a Fan of the Author’s Design

In Which Was Painted the Story of Cephalus and Procris, with the Motto ‘Aura Veni’

COME, gentle air! th’ Æolian shepherd said,While Procris panted in the secret shade;Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries,While at her feet her swain expiring lies.Lo, the glad gales o’er all her beauties stray,   5Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play;In Delia’s hand this toy is fatal found,Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;Alike both lovers fall by those they love.   10Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she gives;She views the story with attentive eyes,And pities Procris while her lover dies.

Cowley: The Garden

FAIN would my Muse the flow’ry treasures sing,And humble glories of the youthful Spring;Where op’ning roses breathing sweets diffuse,And soft carnations shower their balmy dews;Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,   5The thin undress of superficial light;And varied tulips show so dazzling gay,Blushing in bright diversities of day.Each painted flow’ret in the lake belowSurveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;   10And pale Narcissus, on the bank in vainTransformëd, gazes on himself again.Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,And mount the hill in venerable rows;There the green infants in their beds are laid,   15The garden’s hope, and its expected shade.Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine,And Vernal honours to their Autumn join;Exceed their promise in the ripen’d store,Yet in the rising blossom promise more.   20There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,By laurels shielded from the piercing day;Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,Still from Apollo vindicates her shade;Still turns her beauties from th’ invading beam,   25Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,At once a shelter from her boughs receives,Where summer’s beauty midst of winter stays,And winter’s coolness spite of summer’s rays.

Cowley: Weeping

WHILE Celia’s tears make sorrow bright,  Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;The sun, next those the fairest light,  Thus from the ocean first did rise:And thus thro’ mists we see the sun,   5Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew,  Foretell the fervor of the day:So from one cloud soft showers we view,  And blasting lightnings burst away.   10The stars that fall from Celia’s eyeDeclare our doom is drawing nigh.

The baby in that sunny sphere  So like a Phaëton appears,That Heav’n, the threaten’d world to spare,   15  Thought fit to drown him in her tears;Else might th’ ambitious nymph aspire

Earl of Rochester: On Silence

SILENCE! coeval with Eternity,Thou wert ere Nature’s self began to be,‘T was one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.

Thine was the sway ere Heav’n was form’d, or earth,Ere fruitful thought conceiv’d Creation’s birth,   5Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

Then various elements against thee join’d,In one more various animal combin’d,And framed the clam’rous race of busy humankind.

The tongue mov’d gently first, and speech was low,   10Till wrangling Science taught its noise and show,And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

But rebel Wit deserts thee oft in vain;Lost in the maze of words he turns again,And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.   15

Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,Oppress’d with argumental tyranny,And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.