________________________________________________
Title: Upon The Poems And Plays Of The Ever-Memorable Mr. William Cartwright
Author: Henry Vaughan [
More Titles by Vaughan]
I did but see thee! and how vain it is
To vex thee for it with remonstrances,
Though things in fashion; let those judge, who sit
Their twelve pence out, to clap their hands at wit
I fear to sin thus near thee; for--great saint!--
'Tis known true beauty hath no need of paint.
Yet, since a label fix'd to thy fair hearse
Is all the mode, and tears put into verse
Can teach posterity our present grief
And their own loss, but never give relief;
I'll tell them--and a truth which needs no pass--
That wit in Cartwright at her zenith was.
Arts, fancy, language, all conven'd in thee,
With those grand miracles which deify
The old world's writings, kept yet from the fire
Because they force these worst times to admire.
Thy matchless genius, in all thou didst write,
Like the sun, wrought with such staid heat and light,
That not a line--to the most critic he--
Offends with flashes, or obscurity.
When thou the wild of humours track'st, thy pen
So imitates that motley stock in men,
As if thou hadst in all their bosoms been,
And seen those leopards that lurk within.
The am'rous youth steals from thy courtly page
His vow'd address, the soldier his brave rage;
And those soft beauteous readers whose looks can
Make some men poets, and make any man
A lover, when thy slave but seems to die,
Turn all his mourners, and melt at the eye.
Thus thou thy thoughts hast dress'd in such a strain
As doth not only speak, but rule and reign;
Nor are those bodies they assum'd dark clouds,
Or a thick bark, but clear, transparent shrouds,
Which who looks on, the rays so strongly beat
They'll brush and warm him with a quick'ning heat;
So souls shine at the eyes, and pearls display
Through the loose crystal-streams a glance of day.
But what's all this unto a royal test?
Thou art the man whom great Charles so express'd!
Then let the crowd refrain their needless hum,
When thunder speaks, then squibs and winds are dumb.
[The end]
Henry Vaughan's poem: Upon The Poems And Plays Of The Ever-Memorable Mr. William Cartwright
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN