(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat
Upon the muses' anvil; turn the same,
(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame;
Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn,
For a good poet's made, as well as born:

And such wert thou. Look, how the father's face

Lives in his issue; even so the race

In his well-turned and true-filed lines;

In each of which he seems to shake a lance,

As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.
Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were,

To see thee in our water yet appear;

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames,
That so did take Eliza, and our James.
But stay; I see thee in the hemisphere
Advanc'd, and made a constellation there:
Shine forth, thou star of poets; and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage;
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd
like night,

And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.
BEN JONSON.

On worthy Master_Shakespeare, and his
Poems.

A MIND reflecting ages past, whose clear
And equal surface can make things appear,
Distant a thousand years, and represent
Them in their lively colors, just extent:
To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates,
Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates
Of Death and Lethe, where (confused) lie
Great heaps of ruinous mortality:

In that deep dusky dungeon to discern
A royal ghost from churls; by art to learn
The physiognomy of shades, and give
Them sudden birth, wondering how oft they live;
What story coldly tells, what poets feign
At second hand, and picture without brain,
Senseless and soul-less shows: to give a stage
(Ample, and true with life) voice, action, age,
As Plato's year, and new scene of the world,
Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd:
To raise our ancient sovereigns from their hearse,
Make kings his subjects; by exchanging verse
Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age
Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage:
Yet so to temper passion, that our ears
Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears
Both weep and smile; fearful at plots so sad,
Then laughing at our fear; abus'd, and glad
To be abus'd; affected with that truth
Which we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth
At which we start, and, by elaborate play,
Tortur'd and tickled; by a crab-like way
Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort
Disgorging up his ravin for our sport:-
-While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne,
Creates and rules a world, and works upon
Mankind by secret engines; now to move
A chilling pity, then a rigorous love;
To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire;
To steer th affections; and by heavenly fire
Mould us anew, stol'n from ourselves:-

This, and much more, which cannot be express'd
But by himself, his tongue, and his own breast,
Was Shakespeare's freehold; which his cunning
Improv'd by favor of the nine-fold train;
The buskin'd muse, the comic queen, the grand
And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand

And nimbler foot of the melodious pair,

The silver-voiced lady, the most fair

[brain

Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring;
Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string
Of golden wire, each line of silk: there run
Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun;
And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice
Birds of a foreign note and various voice:
Here hangs a mossy rock; there plays a fair
But chiding fountain, purled: not the air,
Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn;
Not out of common tiffany or lawn,
But fine materials, which the muses know,
And only know the countries where they grow.
Now, when they could no longer him enjoy,
In mortal garments pent,-death may destroy,
They say, his body; but his verse shall live,
And more than nature takes our hands shall give:
In a less volume, but more strongly bound,
Shakespeare shall breathe and speak; with laurel
crown'd,

Which never fades; fed with ambrosian meat,
In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat.
So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it;
For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it.

The friendly admirer of his endowments.

I. M. S.

Upon the Lines, and Life, of the famous Scenic Poet, Master W. Shakespeare.

THOSE hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring,

You Britons brave; for done are Shake-speare's days: His days are done that made the dainty plays,

Which made the Globe of heaven and earth to ring. Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring, Turn'd all to tears, and Phoebus clouds his rays; That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays,

Which crown'd him poet first, then poet's king. If tragedies might any prologue have,

All those he made would scarce make one to this; Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, (Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is: For, though his line of life went soon about, The life yet of his lines shall never out.

Readily; nimbly. Quick; ready. 1

Alon. Good boatswain, have a care. Where's the master? Play the men.

Boats. I pray now, keep below.

Ant. Where is the master, boatswain?

Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labor. Keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. Gon. Nay, good, be patient.

Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats. None that more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you can not, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance [Exit. of the hour, if it so hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!Out of our way, say.

I

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks, he hath no drowning mark upon him; his

"Play the men," i. e., Behave like men.- Present in

stant.

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's 1 heat, Dashes the fire out. O! I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O! the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The fraughting souls within her.

e

Pro.

Be collected: No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done.

Incontinent.-b"Two courses," i. e., mainsail and foresail. -Absolutely. To englut; to swallow. "The fraught ing souls," ie., the souls constituting the freight.

Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro.

'Tis time

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me.-So:
[Lays down his 2 robe
Lie there my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such 3 prevision in mine art
So safely order'd, that there is no soul—
No, not so much perdition as an hair,
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.

Sit down;

h

For thou must now know farther.

Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding, "Stay, not yet."

Pro.

The hour's now come, The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? [Sits down. I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old.

Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? Of anything the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance.

"Tis far off;

Mira.
And rather like a dream, than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants.
Had I not

Four or five women once, that tended me?
Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it,
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.
Mira.
But that I do not.
Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year
since,
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and
A prince of
power.

Mira.
Sir, are not you my father?
She said-thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
And princess, no worse issued.
Was duke of Milan, 5 thou his only heir

Mira.

O, the heavens!

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, whom t'advance, and whom
To trash for over-topping, new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them,
Or else new form'd them; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, [not.
And suck'd my verdure out on't.-Thou attend'st
Mira. O good sir! I do.
Pro.
I pray thee, mark me.
I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind
With that, which but by being so retired
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him

A falsehood, in its contrary as great
As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit,

A confidence sans bound. He being thus 1loaded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact,-like one,
Who having to untruth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie,-he did believe

He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution,
And executing th' outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative:-hence his ambition
Growing,-Dost thou hear?

Mira.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man!—my library Was dukedom large enough of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan!) To most ignoble stooping.

Mira.

O the heavens! [me, Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell If this might be a brother.

Pro.

Now the condition.
This king of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises,-
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,-
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,
With all the honors, on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight,
Fated to the practise, did Antonio open

The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me, and thy crying self.

Mira.

Alack, for pity!

• Administration. -b Check. Without. - & Thirsty.e "In lieu o'," L e, in consideration of

That hour destroy us?

Pro.

Wherefore did they not

Well demanded, wench: My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me, nor set A mark so bloody on the business; but With colors fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepar'd A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong.

Mira.

Was I then to you!

Pro.

Alack! what trouble

O! a cherubim

Pro. Now I arise:- 4[Puts on his robe again.
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arriv'd; and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
Mira. Heavens thank you for 't! And now, I
pray you, sir,

For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

Pro.
Know thus far forth.-
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience,
I find my zenith doth depend upon

k

A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions.
Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
And give it way:--I know thou canst not choose.-
[MIRANDA sleeps.
Come away, servant, come! I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel: come!

Enter ARIEL.

Ari. All hail, great master; grave sir, hail. I come

f Suggestion. — & Covered, — Resolution. — Helped; assisted. Foreknowledge.- Prosperity.