An apology for the study of northern antiquities Part 3

Give us new Rules, and set our Harp in Tune.

And that honourable Peer whom he commends, the Lord _Roscommon_ thus keeps him in Countenance;

Be what you will, so you be still the same.

And again,

In her full Flight, and when she shou'd be curb'd.

Soon after,

Use is the Judge, the Law, and Rule of Speech,

And by and by,

We weep and laugh, as we see others do, He only makes me sad who shews the way: But if you act them ill, I sleep or laugh.

The next I shall mention is my Lord _Orrery_, who, as Mr. _Anthony Wood_ says, was a great Poet, Statesman, Soldier, and great every thing which merits the Name of Great and Good. In his Poem to Mrs. _Philips_, he writes thus;

For they imperfect Trophies to you raise, You deserve Wonder, and they pay but Praise; A Praise which is as short of your great due.

As all which yet have writ come short of you.

Again,

In Pictures none hereafter will delight, You draw more to the Life in black and white; The Pencil to your Pen must yield the Place, This draws the Soul, where that draws but the Face.

But having thank'd these n.o.ble Lords for their Suffrage, we will proceed to some other Witnesses of Quality: And first I beg leave to appeal to my Lord Duke of _Buckinghams.h.i.+re_, his Translation of _The Temple of Death_;

Her Chains were Marks of Honour to the Brave, She made a Prince when e'er she made a Slave.

Again,

By wounding me, she learnt the fatal Art, And the first Sigh she had, was from my Heart.

My Lord _Hallifax_'s Muse hath been very indulgent to _Monosyllables_, and no Son of _Apollo_ will dare to dispute his Authority in this Matter. Speaking of the Death of King _Charles_ the Second, and his Improvement of Navigation, and s.h.i.+pping; he says,

To ev'ry Coast, with ready Sails are hurl'd, Fill us with Wealth, and with our Fame the World.

Again,

Us from our Foes, and from our selves did s.h.i.+eld.

Again,

As the stout Oak, when round his Trunk the Vine Does in soft Wreaths, and amorous Foldings twine.

And again,

In _Charles_, so good a Man and King, we see, A double Image of the Deity.

Oh! Had he more resembled it! Oh why Was he not still more like; and cou'd not die?

My Lord _Landsdown_'s Muse, which may claim her Seat in the highest Point of _Parna.s.sus_, gives us these Instances of her Sentiments in our Favour;

So own'd by Heaven, less glorious far was he, Great G.o.d of Verse, than I, thus prais'd by thee.

Again on _Mira's_ singing,

The Slave that from her Wit or Beauty flies, If she but reach him with her Voice, he dies.

In such n.o.ble Company, I imagin Mr. _Addison_ will not be ashamed to appear, thus speaking of Mr. _Cowley_;

His Turns too closely on the Reader press; He more had pleas'd us, had he pleas'd us less.

And of Mr. _Waller_,

Oh had thy Muse not come an Age too soon.

And of Mr. _Dryden_'s Muse,

Whether in Comick Sounds or Tragick Airs She forms her Voice, she moves our Smiles or Tears.

And to his Friend Dr. _Sacheverell_,

I've done at length, and now, dear Friend, receive The last poor Present that my Muse can give.

And so at once, dear Friend and Muse, fare well.

To these let me add the Testimony of that Darling of the Muses, Mr.

_Prior_, with whom all the Poets of ancient and modern Times of other Nations, or our own, might seem to have intrusted the chief Secrets, and greatest Treasures of their Art. I shall speak only concerning our own Island, where his Imitation of _Chaucer_, of _Spencer_, and of the old _Scotch Poem_, inscribed the _Nut-Brown Maid_, shew how great a Master he is, and how much every thing is to be valued which bears the Stamp of his Approbation. And we shall certainly find a great deal to countenance the use of _Monosyllables_ in his Writings. Take these Examples;

Me all too mean for such a Task I weet.

Again,

Grasps he the Bolt? we ask, when he has hurl'd the Flame.

And,

Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast.

And again,

With Fear and with Desire, with Joy and Pain She sees and runs to meet him on the Plain.

And,

With all his Rage, and Dread, and Grief, and Care.

In his Poem in answer to Mrs. _Eliz. Singer_, on her Poem upon _Love_ and _Friends.h.i.+p_,