Who to the life an exact piece would make,
Must not from others' work a copy take;
No, not from Rubens or Vandyke;
Much less content himself to make it like
The' ideas and the images which lie
In his own fancy or his memory.
No, he before his sight must place
The natural and living face;
The real object must command
Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.
From these and all long errors of the way,
In which our wandering predecessors went,
And, like the' old Hebrews, many years did stray,
In deserts but of small extent,
Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last :
The barren wilderness he pass'd;
Did on the very border stand
Of the bless'd promised land;
And from the mountain's top of his exalted wit,
Saw it himself, and show'd us it.
But life did never to one man allow
Time to discover worlds and conquer too;
Nor can so short a line sufficient be
To fathom the vast depths of Nature's sea.
The work he did we ought to' admire;
And were unjust if we should more require
From his few years, divided 'twixt the' excess
Of low affliction and high happiness :
For who on things remote can fix his sight,
That's always in a triumph or a fight?
From you, great champions! we expect to get
These spacious countries, but discovered yet;
Countries, where yet, instead of Nature, we
Her images and idols worshipp'd see:
These large and wealthy regions to subdue,
Though Learning has whole armies at command,
Quarter'd about in every land,
A better troop she ne'er together drew:
Methinks, like Gideon's little band,
God with design has pick'd out you,
To do those noble wonders by a few :
When the whole host he saw, "They are" (said he)
"Too many to o'ercome for me;"
And now he chooses out his men,
Much in the way that he did then ;
Not those many whom he found
Idly' extended on the ground,
To drink with their dejected head
The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled:
No; but those few who took the waters up,
And made of their laborious hands the cup.
Thus you prepared, and in the glorious fight
Their wondrous pattern too you take;
Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,
And with their hands then lifted up the light.
Io! sound too the trumpets here!
Already your victorious lights appear;
New scenes of heaven already we espy,
And crowds of golden worlds on high,
Which from the spacious plains of earth and sea
Could never yet discover'd be,
By sailors' or Chaldeans' watchful eye.
Nature's great works no distance can obscure,
No smallness her near objects can secure ;
Y' have taught the curious sight to press
Into the privatest recess
Of her imperceptible littleness!
Y' have learn'd to read her smallest hand, And well begun her deepest sense to understand!
Mischief and true dishonour fall on those
Who would to laughter or to scorn expose
So virtuous and so noble a design,
So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.
The things which these proud men despise, and call
Impertinent, and vain, and small,
Those smallest things of nature let me know,
Rather than all their greatest actions do!
Whoever would deposed Truth advance
Into the throne usurp'd from it,
Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance,
And the sharp points of envious Wit.
So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance,
In many thousand years
A star, so long unknown, appears,
Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow, It troubles and alarms the world below;
Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show.
With courage and success you the bold work begin;
Your cradle has not idle been:
None e'er, but Hercules and you, would bẹ
At five years age worthy a history.
And ne'er did Fortune better yet
The' historian to the story fit:
As you from all old errors free
And purge the body of Philosophy;
So from all modern follies he
Has vindicated Eloquence and Wit.
His candid style like a clean stream does slide, And his bright fancy, all the way,
Does like the sunshine in it play;
It does, like Thames, the best of rivers! glide,
Where the God does not rudely overturn,
But gently pour, the crystal urn,
[guide: And with judicious hand does the whole current "T has all the beauties Nature can impart, And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art.
SIR FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP,
PRESENTED TO THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF OXFORD BY
JOHN DAVIS, OF DEPTFORD, esquire.
To this great ship, which round the globe has run,
And match'd in race the chariot of the sun,
This Pythagorean ship (for it may claim
Without presumption so deserved a name,
By knowledge once, and transformation now)
In her new shape, this sacred port allow.
Drake and his ship could not have wish'd from Fate
A more bless'd station, or more bless'd estate;
For, lo! a seat of endless rest is given
To her in Oxford, and to him in heaven.
CUTTER OF COLMAN STREET.
As, when the midland sea is nowhere clear
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier—
Which coast about, to all they meet with foes,
And upon which nought can be got but blows—
The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And trade decays, and scarcity ensues;
Just so the timorous wits of late refuse,
Though laded, to put forth upon the stage,
Affrighted by the critics of this age.
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which sails in sight, with-
Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare;
They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charged with air.
But yet, gentlemen critics of Argier,
For your own interest I'd advise ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd, "That must not be" (you'll cry). If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are seven, eight, nine-stay-there are behind
Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And those are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new;
Some by known shipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That styles himself "Person of Quality:"
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