Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But you, whom every mufe and
grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and O defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th❜infulting foe my fame pursue,
But fhade those laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do lefs.
Excellent Tragedy call'd, HEROIC LOVE.
Aufpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But fince 'tis nature's law in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and withering age submit,
With lefs regret thofe laurels I refign,
Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine.
With better grace an ancient chief may yield
The long contended honors of the field,
Than venture all his fortune at a caft,
And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.
Young princes, obftinate to win the prize,
Tho yearly beaten, yearly yet they rise:
Old monarchs, tho fuccessful, ftill in doubt,
Catch at a peace, and wifely turn devout.'
Thine be the laurel then; thy blooming age
Can beft, if any can, fupport the ftage;
Which fo declines, that fhortly we may fee
Players and plays reduc'd to second infancy.
Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown,
They plot not on the stage, but on the town,
And, in despair their empty pit to fill,
Set up some foreign monster in a bill.
Thus they jog on, ftill tricking, never thriving,
And murd'ring plays, which they miscal reviving.
Our fenfe is nonfenfe, thro their pipes convey'd;
Scarce can a poet know the play he made;
'Tis so disguis'd in death; nor thinks 'tis he
That fuffers in the mangled tragedy.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But you, whom every mufe and
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and O defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th❜infulting foe my fame pursue,
But fhade thofe laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do lefs.
Excellent Tragedy call'd, HEROIC LOVE.
Aufpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But fince 'tis nature's law in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and withering age submit,
With lefs regret thofe laurels I refign,
Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine.
With better grace an ancient chief may yield
The long contended honors of the field,
Than venture all his fortune at a cast,
And fight, like Hannibal, to lofe at last.
Young princes, obftinate to win the prize,
Tho yearly beaten, yearly yet they rise:
Old monarchs, tho fuccefsful, ftill in doubt,
Catch at a peace, and wifely turn devout.'
Thine be the laurel then; thy blooming age
Can beft, if any can, fupport the stage;
Which fo declines, that fhortly we may fee
Players and plays reduc'd to second infancy.
Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown,
They plot not on the stage, but on the town,
And, in despair their empty pit to fill,
fome foreign' monster in a bill.
Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving,
And murd'ring plays, which they miscal reviving.
Our fenfe is nonfenfe, thro their pipes convey'd;
Scarce can a poet know the play he made;
'Tis so disguis'd in death; nor thinks 'tis he
That fuffers in the mangled tragedy.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But
whom every
you,
grace adorn,
Whom I forefee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and O defend,
Againft your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th❜infulting foe my fame pursue,
But fhade thofe laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do lefs.
Excellent Tragedy call'd, HEROIC LOVE.
Ufpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But fince 'tis nature's law in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and withering age submit,
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