Shakespeare of Stratford
93
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please,
But antiquated and deserted lie
As they were not of nature’s family.
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please,
But antiquated and deserted lie
As they were not of nature’s family.
Yet must I not give nature all: thy art,
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part;
For though the poet’s matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion; and that he,
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat
(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
Of Shakespeare’s mind and manners brightly shines
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.
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part;
For though the poet’s matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion; and that he,
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat
(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
Of Shakespeare’s mind and manners brightly shines
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 waters 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 fro hence hath mourn’d like night,
And despairs day but for thy volume’s light.
BEN: JONSON.
To see thee in our waters 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 fro hence hath mourn’d like night,
And despairs day but for thy volume’s light.
BEN: JONSON.
