FullReads

AN ANSWER TO THE ODE, COME LEAVE THE LOATHED STAGE, &C.;

Come leave this sawcy way
Of baiting those that pay
Dear for the sight of your declining wit:
‘Tis known it is not fit
That a sale poet, just contempt once thrown,
Should cry up thus his own.
I wonder by what dower,
Or patent, you had power
From all to rape a judgment. Let’t suffice,
Had you been modest, y’ad been granted wise.

‘Tis known you can do well,
And that you do excell
As a translator; but when things require
A genius, and fire,
Not kindled heretofore by other pains,
As oft y’ave wanted brains
And art to strike the white,
As you have levell’d right:
Yet if men vouch not things apocryphal,
You bellow, rave, and spatter round your gall.

Jug, Pierce, Peek, Fly,[104] and all
Your jests so nominal,
Are things so far beneath an able brain,
As they do throw a stain
Thro’ all th’ unlikely plot, and do displease
As deep as PERICLES.
Where yet there is not laid
Before a chamber-maid
Discourse so weigh’d,[105] as might have serv’d of old
For schools, when they of love and valour told.

Why rage, then? when the show
Should judgment be, and know-[106]
ledge, there are plush who scorn to drudge
For stages, yet can judge
Not only poet’s looser lines, but wits,
And all their perquisits;
A gift as rich as high
Is noble poesie:
Yet, tho’ in sport it be for Kings to play,
‘Tis next mechanicks’ when it works for pay.

Alcaeus lute had none,
Nor loose Anacreon
E’er taught so bold assuming of the bays
When they deserv’d no praise.
To rail men into approbation
Is new to your’s alone:
And prospers not: for known,
Fame is as coy, as you
Can be disdainful; and who dares to prove
A rape on her shall gather scorn–not love.

Leave then this humour vain,
And this more humourous strain,
Where self-conceit, and choler of the blood,
Eclipse what else is good:
Then, if you please those raptures high to touch,
Whereof you boast so much:
And but forbear your crown
Till the world puts it on:
No doubt, from all you may amazement draw,
Since braver theme no Phoebus ever saw.

To console dejected Ben for this just reprimand, Randolph, of the adopted poetical sons of Jonson, addressed him with all that warmth of grateful affection which a man of genius should have felt on the occasion.

AN ANSWER TO MR. BEN JONSON’S ODE, TO PERSUADE HIM NOT TO LEAVE THE STAGE.

I.

Ben, do not leave the stage
Cause ’tis a loathsome age;
For pride and impudence will grow too bold,
When they shall hear it told
They frighted thee; Stand high, as is thy cause;
Their hiss is thy applause:
More just were thy disdain,
Had they approved thy vein:
So thou for them, and they for thee were born;
They to incense, and thou as much to scorn.

II.

Wilt thou engross thy store
Of wheat, and pour no more,
Because their bacon-brains had such a taste
As more delight in mast:
No! set them forth a board of dainties, full
As thy best muse can cull
Whilst they the while do pine
And thirst, midst all their wine.
What greater plague can hell itself devise,
Than to be willing thus to tantalise?

III.

Thou canst not find them stuff,
That will be bad enough
To please their palates: let ’em them refuse,
For some Pye-corner muse;
She is too fair an hostess, ’twere a sin
For them to like thine Inn:
‘Twas made to entertain
Guests of a nobler strain;
Yet, if they will have any of the store,
Give them some scraps, and send them from thy dore.