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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426609" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Account Of The Greatest English Poets</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since, dearest Harry, you will needs request<br>A short account of all the Muse possest,<br>That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's Times,<br>Have spent their Noble Rage in British Rhimes;<br>Without more Preface, wrote in Formal length,<br>To speak the Undertakers want of strength,<br>I'll try to make they're sev'ral Beauties known,<br>And show their Verses worth, tho' not my Own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long had our dull Fore-Fathers slept Supine,<br>Nor felt the Raptures of the Tuneful Nine;<br>Till Chaucer first, the merry Bard, arose;<br>And many a Story told in Rhime and Prose.<br>But Age has Rusted what the Poet writ,<br>Worn out his Language, and obscur'd his Wit:<br>In vain he jests in his unpolish'd strain,<br>And tries to make his Readers laugh in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Spencer next, warm'd with Poetick Rage,<br>In Antick Tales amus'd a Barb'rous Age;<br>An Age that yet uncultivate and Rude,<br>Where-e'er the Poet's Fancy led, pursu'd<br>Through pathless Fields, and unfrequented Floods,<br>To Dens of Dragons and Enchanted Woods.<br>But now the Mystick Tale, that pleas'd of Yore,<br>Can Charm an understanding Age no more;<br>The long-spun Allegories fulsom grow,<br>While the dull Moral lies too plain below.<br>We view well-pleas'd at distance all the sights<br>Of Arms and Palfreys, Battle's, Fields, and Fights,<br>And Damsels in Distress, and Courteous Knights.<br>But when we look too near, the Shades decay,<br>And all the pleasing Lan-skip fades away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Great Cowley then (a mighty Genius) wrote;<br>O'er-run with Wit, and lavish of his Thought:<br>His Turns too closely on the Reader press;<br>He more had pleas'd us, had he pleas'd us less.<br>One glitt'ring Thought no sooner strikes our Eyes<br>With silent wonder, but new wonders rise.<br>As in the Milky way a shining White,<br>O'er-flows the Heav'ns, with one continu'd Light;<br>That not a single Star can shew his Rays,<br>Whilst joyntly all promote the Common-Blaze.<br>Pardon, Great Poet, that I dare to name<br>Th' unnumber'd Beauties of thy Verse with blame;<br>Thy fault is only Wit in its Excess,<br>But Wit like thine in any shape will please.<br>What Muse but thine cou'd equal Hints inspire,<br>And fit the Deep-Mouth'd Pindar to thy Lyre:<br>Pindar, whom others in a Labour'd strain<br>And forc'd Expression, imitate in vain?<br>Well-pleas'd in thee he Soars with new delight,<br>And Plays in more unbounded Verse, and takes a nobler flight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blest Man! whose spotless Life and Charming Lays<br>Employ'd the Tuneful Prelate in thy Praise:<br>Blest Man! who now shall be for ever known<br>In Sprat's successful Labours and thy own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks,<br>Unfetter'd in Majestic Numbers walks;<br>No vulgar Heroe can his Muse ingage;<br>Nor Earth's wide Scene confine his hallow'd Rage.<br>See! see, he upward Springs, and Tow'ring high,<br>Spurns the dull Province of Mortality;<br>Shakes Heav'ns Eternal Throne with dire Alarms,<br>And sets the Almighty Thunderer in Arms.<br>What-e'er his Pen describes I more then see,<br>Whilst ev'ry Verse array'd in Majesty,<br>Bold, and sublime, my whole attention draws,<br>And seems above the Criticks nicer Laws.<br>How are you struck with Terrour and Delight,<br>When Angel with Arch-Angel Cope's in Fight!<br>When Great Messiah's out-spread Banner shines,<br>How does the Chariot Rattel in his Lines!<br>What sounds of Brazen Wheels, what Thunder, scare,<br>And stun the Reader with the Din of War!<br>With Fear my Spirits and my Blood retire,<br>To see the Seraphs sunk in Clouds of Fire;<br>But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise,<br>And view the first gay Scenes of Paradise;<br>What Tongue, what words of Rapture, can express<br>A Vision so profuse of pleasantness.<br>Oh had the Poet ne'er profan'd his Pen,<br>To varnish o'er the Guilt of Faithless Men,<br>His other works might have deserv'd applause!<br>But now the Language can't support the Cause;<br>While the clean Current, tho' serene and bright,<br>Betray's a bottom odious to the sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now my Muse, a softer strain rehearse.<br>Turn every Line with Art, and smooth thy Verse;<br>The Courtly Waller next commands thy Lays:<br>Muse Tune thy Verse, with Art, to Waller's Praise.<br>While tender Airs and lovely Dames inspire<br>Soft melting Thoughts, and propagate Desire;<br>So long shall Waller's strains our Passion move,<br>And Sacharissa's Beauties kindle Love.<br>Thy Verse, Harmonious Bard, and flatt'ring Song,<br>Can make the Vanquish'd Great, the Coward strong.<br>Thy Verse can show ev'n Cromwell's innocence,<br>And Compliment the Storms that bore him hence.<br>Oh had thy Muse not come an Age too soon,<br>But seen Great Nassaw on the British Throne!<br>How had his Triumphs glitter'd in thy Page,<br>And warm'd Thee to a more Exalted Rage!<br>What Scenes of Death and Horrour had we viewd,<br>And how had Boine's wide Current Reek'd in Blood!<br>Or if Maria's Charms thou wou'dst rehearse,<br>In smoother Numbers and a softer Verse,<br>Thy Pen had well describ'd her Graceful Air,<br>And Gloriana wou'd have seem'd more Fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor must Roscommon pass neglected by,<br>That makes ev'n Rules a noble Poetry:<br>Rules who's deep Sense and Heav'nly Numbers show<br>The best of Critticks, and of Poets too.<br>Nor Denham must we e'er forget thy Strains,<br>While Cooper's Hill commands the neighb'ring Plains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But see where artful Dryden next appears,<br>Grown old in Rhime, but Charming ev'n in Years.<br>Great Dryden next! whose Tuneful Muse affords<br>The sweetest Numbers, and the fittest words.<br>Whether in Comick sounds or Tragick Airs<br>She form's her voice, she moves our Smiles or Tears.<br>If Satire or Heroick Strains she writes,<br>Her Heroe pleases, and her Satire Bites.<br>From her no harsh, unartful Numbers fall,<br>She wears all Dresses, and she Charms in all:<br>How might we fear our English Poetry,<br>That long has flourish'd, shou'd decay with Thee;<br>Did not the Muses other Hope appear,<br>Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our Fear.<br>Congreve! whose Fancies unexhausted Store<br>Has given already much, and promis'd more.<br>Congreve shall still preserve thy Fame alive<br>And Dryden's Muse shall in his Friend survive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm tir'd with Rhiming, and wou'd fain give o'er,<br>But Justice still demands one Labour more:<br>The Noble Montague remains unnam'd,<br>For Wit, for Humour, and for Judgment fam'd;<br>To Dorset he directs his Artful Muse,<br>In numbers such as Dorset's self might use.<br>How negligently Graceful he unrein's<br>His Verse, and writes in loose Familiar strains;<br>How Nassau's Godlike Acts adorn his Lines,<br>And all the Heroe in full Glory Shines.<br>We see his Army set in just Array,<br>And Boine's Di'd Waves run purple to the Sea.<br>Nor Simois chok'd with men, and Arms, and Blood;<br>Nor rapid Xanthus' celebrated Flood:<br>Shall longer be the Poet's highest Themes.<br>Tho' Gods and Heroes fought, Promiscuous in they're streams.<br>But now, to Nassau's secret Councils rais'd,<br>He Aids the Heroe, whom before he Prais'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've done, at length, and now, Dear Friend, receive<br>The last poor Present that my Muse can give.<br>I leave the Arts of Poetry and Verse<br>To them that practise 'em with more success.<br>Of greater Truths I'll now prepare to tell,<br>And so at once, Dear Friend and Muse, Farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joseph+Addison">Joseph Addison</a><div class=q>
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A short account of all the Muse possest,
That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's Times,
Have spent their Noble Rage in British Rhimes;
Without more Preface, wrote in Formal length,
To speak the Under..."></div>
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