But when shot forth then draws the danger near,
On ev'ry fide the gath'ring winds appear,
And blasts destroy that fruit which frofts would
spare:
But now new vigour and new life it knows,
And warmth, that from this royal presence flows.
O would the fhine with rays more frequent here! How gay would then this drooping land appear! 25 Then like the fun with pleasure fhe might view
The fmiling earth cloth'd by her beams anew:
O'er all the meads should various flow'rs be feen,
Mix'd with the laurel's never-fading green,
The new creation of a gracious Queen.
UR age has much improv'd the warriour's art, For fighting now is thought the weakest part, And a good head more useful than a heart.
way of war does our example yield;
That stage will win which longest keeps the field. 5
We mean not battle when we bid defiance,
But ftarving one another to compliance.
Our troops encamp'd are by each other view'd,
And those which first are hungry are subdu’d.
And there, in truth, depends the great decifion; 10
They conquer who cut off the foe's provision.
Let fools with knocks and bruises keep a pother,
Our war and trade is to outwit each other.
But hold; will not the politicians tell us
That both our conduct and our forefight fail us, IS
To raife recruits, and draw new forces down,
Thus in the dead vacation of the Town?
To mufter up our rhymes without our reason,
And forage for an audience out of feason?
Our Author's fears must this false step excufe,
'Tis the first flight of a just-feather'd Muse :
Th' occafion ta'en when criticks are away,
Half wits and beaus, those rav'nous birds of prey;
But, Heav'n be prais'd, far hence they vent their
Mauling in mild lampoon th' intriguing Bath.
Thus does our Author his firft flight commence ;
Thus against friends at first with foils we fence;
Thus prudent Gimcrack try'd if he were able
(Ere he'd wet foot) to swim upon a table.
Then spare the youth; or if you'll damn the play,
Let him but firft have his, then take your day.
A COMEDY WRITTEN BY MR. J. DRYDEN, JUNIOR.
THIS year has been remarkable two ways,
For blooming poets and for blasted plays.
We've been by much appearing plenty mock'd,
At once both tantaliz'd and overstock'd.
Our authors, too, by their fuccefs of late,
Begin to think third days are out of date.
What can the cause be that our plays wont keep,
Unless they have a rot fome years, like sheep?
For our parts, we confefs we're quite afham'd
To read fuch weekly bills of poets damn'd.
Each parish knows 't is but a mournful cafe
When chrift'nings fall and funerals increase.
Thus 'tis, and thus 't will be when we are dead,
There will be writers which will ne'er be read.
Why will you be fuch wits, and write fuch things?
You're willing to be wafps, but want the stings. 16
Let not your fpleen provoke you to that height;
'Od's life! you don't know what you do, Sirs, when
you write,
You'll find that Pegasus has tricks when try'd,
Tho' you make nothing on't but up and ride; 20
Ladies, and all, i' faith, now get
aftride.
Contriving characters, and scenes, and plots,
Is grown as common now as knitting knots;
With the fame eafe and negligence of thought
The charming play is writ and fringe is wrought. 25
Tho' this be frightful, yet we're more afraid
When ladies leave, that beaus will take the trade.
Thus far 't is well enough, if here 't would stop,
But should they write we muft e'en fhut up fhop.
How shall we make this mode of writing fink? 30
A mode, faid I! 't is a disease, I think,
A ftubborn tetter that 's not cur'd with ink;
For ftill it spreads till each th' infection takes,
And feizes ten for one that it forfakes.
Our play to-day is sprung from none of these, 35
Nor fhould you damn it tho' it does not please,
Since born without the bounds of your four feas:
For if you grant no favour as 't is new,
Yet as a stranger there is fomething due.
From Rome (to try its fate) this play was fent; 40
Start not at Rome, for there's no Pop'ry meant:
Tho' there the poet may his dwelling chufe,
Yet ftill he knows his country claims his Mufe.
Hither an off'ring his first-born he fends,
Whofe good or ill fuccefs, on you depends;
Yet he has hope fome kindness may be shown,
As due to greater merit than his own,
And begs the fire may for the son atone.
There's his last refuge; if the play don't take,
Yet fpare young Dryden for his father's fake.
ON THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY, 1704.
THE happy Muse, to this high scene preferr'd,
Hereafter fhall in loftier flrains be heard,
And, foaring to tranfcend her usual theme,
Shall fing of virtue and heroick fame:
No longer fhall fhe toil upon the stage,
And fruitless war with vice and folly wage;
No more in mean difguife fhe fhall appear,
And fhapes fhe would reform be forc'd to wear;
While Ignorance and Malice join to blame,
And break the mirror that reflects their shame. ΙΟ Henceforth fhe fhall purfue a nobler task,
Show her bright virgin-face, and fcorn the Satyr's
Happy her future days! which are design'd
Alone to paint the beauties of the mind;
By juft originals to draw with care,
And copy from the Court a faultlefs fair:
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