« PředchozíPokračovat »
Or the bellman's drowfy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp at midnight hour,
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The fpirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold,
The immortal mind that hath forfook
Her manfion in this fleshly nook :
And of thofe Dæmons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true confent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In fcepter'd pall come fweeping by,
Prefenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the bufkin'd stage.
But, O fad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Mufæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes as warbled to the ftring,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made hell grant what love did feek;
Or call up him that left half-told
The ftory of Cambufcan-bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wond'rous horfe of brafs,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught elfe, great bards befide,
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus night oft fee me in thy pale career, Till civil-fuited morn appear,
Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont, With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchief'd in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud, Or usher'd with a shower still, When the guft hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the fun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude ax with heaved ftroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. There in clofe covert by fome brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flow'ry work doth fing, And the waters murmuring, With fuch concert as they keep, Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep:
And let fome ftrange myfterious dream,
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid;
And as I wake sweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloyfter's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voiced quire below,
In fervice high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear
Diffolve me into extafies,
And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age,
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of ev'ry ftar that heav'n doth fhew,
And ev'ry herb that fips the dew:
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
THE PROGRESS OF LIFE.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts:
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his fatchel,
And fhining morning face, creeping like fnail
Unwillingly to fchool. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his miftrefs' eye-brow. Then a foldier,
Full of ftrange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the juftice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws and modern inftances,
And fo he plays his part. The fixth age shifts
Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hofe well fav'd, a world too wide
For his fhrunk fhank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes,
And whistles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful hiftory,
Is fecond childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.
CHA P. XIX.
THE ENTRY OF BOLINGBROKE AND RICHARD INTO LONDON.
DUKE AND DUTCHESS OF York.
Y Lord, you told me, you would tell the reft,
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two coufins coming into London.
YORK. Where did I leave?
DUTCH. At that fad ftop, my Lord,
Where rude mifgovern'd hands, from window-tops,
Threw duft and rubbish on King Richard's head.
YORK. Then, as I faid, the Duke, great Bolingbroke! Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his afpiring rider feem'd to know,
With flow, but ftately pace, kept on his courfe;
While all tongues cried, God fave thee, Bolingbroke!
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through cafements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his vifage; and that all the walls
With painted imag'ry had faid at once,
Jefu preferve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilft he, from one fide to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud fteed's neck,
Bespoke them thus: I thank you countrymen;
And thus ftill doing, thus he pafs'd along.
DUTCH. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?
YORK. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the ftage,