To my dear Friend Mr. CONGREVE, on his Comedy,
called, The DOUBLE DEALER.
WELL then; the promis'd hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past:
Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ,
Conqu❜ring with force of arms, and dint of wit;
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood;
And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood.
Like Janus, he the stubborn soil manur'd,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd:
Tam'd us to manners, when the stage was rude,
And boist'rous English wit with art indu`d.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gain'd in skill we lost in strength.
Our builders were, with want of genius, curst;
The second temple was not like the first,
'Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base;
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise:
He mov'd the mind, but had no power to raise.
Great Johnson did by strength of judgment please;
Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease.
In diff'rent talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the study, t'other for the stage.