Commendatory POEMS,

To Mr. CREECH,

Upon his Tranflation of Lucretius into English.

H

OW happy had our English Tongue been made,
Were but our Wit induftrious as our Trade?
Would we from hence to diftant Countries go;
What Greece or Rome e'er yields in England fow,
And teach th' Unlearned what the Learned know.
In this the French excel, but we take care

Not what they write, but only what they wear;
Vain tho' they be, in them lefs Care we find
To drefs the Body, than adorn the Mind.
There, to know all, you only French shall need ;
And the Worlds Learning in one Language read.
Why fhould our Ifle be by her Sons deny'd,
What if obtain'd, would prove her greatest Pride?
Should fome object our Language will not bear,
Let them but read thy Book, 'tis anfwer'd there.
Thou, above all, feem'ft for this Task defign'd;
Charming thy Pen, and matchlefs is thy Mind;
With all Youth's Fire, and Ages Judgment bleft,
Learning itself is feated in thy Breaft:
Thou haft Lucretius English'd-

Nor has it fuffer'd by the Change of Tongue,
We read, and find Lucretius all along.
Thee fure the God of Poets did infpire,
And warm'd thy Breaft with his peculiar Fire;
Pick'd from his feveral Sons thy happier Hand
To blefs with foreign Wit thy Native Land.
Thy Pen might make Theocritus appear
In English Drefs, and wound the lift'ning Ear.
The Heavenly Virgil here has fuffer'd wrong,
Taught by unskilful Hands the English Tongue:
He begs thy Aid, for him the Land befide,
Can all these ask, and can they be deny'd?
Horace we have in Paraphraftick Drefs,
(They who enlarge his Poems, make them less)
Tho' baulk'd before, would fee us once agen,
And courts th' Affiftance of thy jufter Pen:
On these, and fuch as thefe, if fuch there are,
Imploy thofe Hours Convenience lets thee fpare.
For this in Wadham's peaceful Walls refide,
Books be thy Pleasure, to do well thy Pride.

[a]

Believe

Believe me, Youth, for I am read in Cares,
And bend beneath the weight of fifty Years;
Dear bought Experience told me what was true,
And Friendship bids me tell thofe Truths to you.
Quit not for publick Cares thy College-Life,
Nor take, that fort of Settlement, a Wife.
Trust not the glitt'ring Court, or noisy Town
Hang not on this Fool's Laugh, nor that Knaves Frown;
But, as thou art, Lord of thy felf appear,

Thy Hours thy own, not clogg'd with Hopes or Fear.
Thus we may ev'ry Year expect to fee

Things we shall wonder at, and worthy Thee,

London, Jan, 25%

1682.

To his Ingenious Friend Mr. CREECH, on his

TW

Excellent Tranflation of Lucretius.

Was bold for Youth Lucretius Heights to ftorm,
But Youth alone had Vigour to perform..

The ftately Fabrick ftood by all admir'd,

But none to copy the vaft Frame afpir'd:

All own'd fome facred Pow'r the Work did guide,
Aids which our Author to the World deny'd.
What to attempt did fo much wonder raife,
Perform'd fo well muft challenge greater Praife:
With thine thy Country's Fame thou here doft show,
What British Wit, and British Speech can do.
Lucretius English'd! 'Tis fo rich a Prize,
We gaze upon't, and fcarce believe our Eyes.
We read, and fee the Roman Genius fhine,
Without Allay in each bright Page of thine
Then paufe, and doubting ftill, again repair,
Again we find the Learn'd Lucretius there.
Thy Pains oblige us on a double Score,
True to thy Author, to Religion more.
Whilft learnedly his Errors thou doft note,
And for his Poyfon bring'ft an Antidote.
From Epicurus Walks thus weeding Vice,
No more the Garden, but a Paradife

London, Decemb. 29. 82.

N. Tate.

Το

To Mr. CREECH upon his Tranflation of Lucretius.

SIR,

When your Book the first time came abroad,

I must confefs I ftood amaz'd and aw'd;

For, as to fome good Nature I pretend,

I fear'd to read left I fhould not commend
Lucretius English'd! 'twas a Work might shake
The pow'r of English Verse to undertake.
This all Men thought, but you are born, we find,
T'outdo the Expectations of Mankind;
Since you've fo well the noble Task perform'd,
Envy's appeas'd, and Prejudice difarm'd:
For when the rich Original we perufe,
And by it try the Metal you produce;
Tho' there indeed the pureft Ore we find,
Yet ftill in you it fomething feems refin'd:
Thus when the great Lucretius gives a loose,
And lafhes to her speed his fiery Mufe;
Still with him you maintain an equal Pace,
And bear full ftretch upon him all the Race,
But when in rugged Way we find him rein
His Verfe, and not so smooth a stroke maintain
There the Advantage he receives, is found,
By you taught Temper, and to choose his Ground.
Next his Philofophy you've fo exprest

In genuine Terms, fo plain, yet neatly dreft,
Thofe Murd'rers, that now mangle it all Day
In Schools, may learn from you the eafy way
To let us know what they would mean and fay:
If Ariftotle's Friends will fhew the grace
To wave for once their Statute in that Cafe,
Go on then, Sir, and fince you could afpire,
And reach this height, aim yet at Lawrels higher :
Secure great injur'd Maro from the wrong
He unredeem'd has labour'd with fo long,

e;

In Holbourn Rhyme, and left the Book fhould fail,
Expos'd with Pictures to promote the fale
So Tapfters fet out Signs, for muddy Ale."
You're only able to retrieve his Doom,
And make him hère as fam'd as once at Rome:
For fure when Julius first this Ifle fubdu'd,
Your Anceftours then mixt with Roman Blood;
Some near ally'd to that whence Ovid came,
Virgil and Horace, those three Sons of Fame;
Since to their Memory it is fo true,
And fhews their Poetry fo much in you.

Go on in Pity to this wretched Ifle,
Which ignorant Poetafters thus defile,

}

}

With loufy Madrigals for Lyrick Verse;

Inftead of Comedy with nafty Farce.

Would Plautus, Terence e'er have been fa lewd

Thave dreft Jackpudding up to catch the Croud?

[22]

Or Sophocles five tedious Acts have made
To fhew a whining Fool in Love_betray'd
By fome falfe Friend or flipp'ry Chamber-maid,
Then e'er he hangs himself, bemoan his Fall
In a dull Speech, and that fine Language call?
No, fince we live in fuch a fulfom Age,

When Nonfence loads the Prefs, and choaks the Stage;
When Block-heads will claim Wit in Natures spight,
And every Dunce, that ftarves, prefumes to write,
Exert your self, defend the Mufes Caufe,
Proclaim their Right, and to maintain their Laws
Make the dead Antients speak the British Tongue;
That fo each chatt'ring Daw who aims at Song,
In his own Mother-Tongue may humbly read
What Engines yet are wanting in his Head
To make him equal to the mighty Dead.
For of all Nature's Works we moft fhould fcorn
The thing, who thinks himself a Poet born,
Unbred, Untaught, he Rhymes, yet hardly fpells,
And fenflefly, as Squirrels jangle Bells,

Such things, Sir, here abound, may therefore you
Be ever to your Friends, the Muses, true:
May our Defects be by your Powers fupply'd;
Till as our Envy now, you grow our Pride.
Till by your Pen reftor'd, in Triumph borne,
The Majefty of Poetry return.

London,

Jan. 10. 82.

}

Tho. Otway.

To the unknown DAPHNIS on his Excellent

TH

Tranflation of Lucretius,

HOU great young Man, permit among the Croud
Of thofe that fing thy mighty Praises Loud,

My humbler Mufe to bring her Tribute too;

Infpir'd by thy vaft Flights of Verse

Methinks I fhould fome wond'rous Thing Rehearse Worthy Divine Lucretius, and Diviner You!

But I of feebler Seeds defign'd,

While the flow moving Atoms ftrove
With careless Heed to form my Mind,
Compos'd it all of softer Love :

In gentle Numbers all my Songs are dreft;

And when I would Thy Glories fing.
What in strong manly Verfe should be expreft
Turns all to womanish Tenderness within;
Whilft that, which Admiration does inspire
In other Souls, kindles in mine a Fire.
Let them admire thee on

whilst I this newer way

Pay thee yet more than they,

For

For I more owe, fince thou haft taught me more
Than all the mighty Bards that went before;
Others long fince have pall'd the vaft Delight,
In Duller Greek and Latine fatisfy'd the Appetite
But I unlearn'd in Schools difdain that Mine
Should treated be at any Feaft but Thine.

Till now I curft my Sex and Education,
And more the feanted Customs of the Nation,
Permitting not the Female Sex to tread

The mighty Paths of learned Heroes dead :
The Godlike Virgil, and great Homer's Mufe
Like Divine Myfteries are conceal'd from us,
We are forbid all grateful Themes,

No ravishing Thoughts approach our Ear;
The fulfome Gingle of the Times

Is all we are allow'd to understand, or hear.

But as of old, when Men unthinking lay,

E'er Gods were worship'd, or e'er Laws were fram'd,
The wifer Bard that taught them firft t' obey,
Was next to what he taught ador'd and fam'd;
Gentler they grew, their Words and Manners chang'd;
And Savage now no more the Woods they rang'd;
So Thou by this Tranflation doft advance
And equall'ft Us to Man. Oh how shall We
Enough Adore, or Sacrifice enough to Thee!

The Myftick Terms of rough Philofophy
Thou doft fo plain and eafily exprefs,

Yet deck'ft them in fo foft and gay a Drefs,
So intelligent to each Capacity,

That They at once inftruct, and charm the Sense
With heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence;
And Reafon over all unfetter'd plays,

Wanton and undisturb'd as Summers Breeze
That gliding murmurs o'er the Trees,
And no hard Notion meets or stops its way;
It pierces, conquers, and compels
As ftrong as Faiths refiftlefs Oracles
Faith the religious Souls Content,

do Thou

Faith the fecure Retreat of routed Argument.
Hail facred Wadham! whom the Mufes Grace,
And from the rest of all the reverend Pile
Of noble Palaces, defign'd thy Space
Where they in foft retreat might dwell.
They bleft thy Fabrick, and they faid.
Our darling Sons contain;
We Thee our facred Nursery ordain,
They faid, and bleft, and it was fo.
And if of old the Fanes of Sylvan Gods
Were worshipt as Divine Abodes;
If Courts are held as facred Things,
For being the awful Seats of Kings:
What Veneration fhould be paid

To Thee that haft fuch wond'rous Poets made?