BEN JONSON 153 Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read and praise to give. — to hear thy buskin tread And shake a stage ; or when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Briton, thou hast one to show, To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time ! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. Yet must I not give Nature all ; thy Art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. 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 torned and true filed lines : In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandisht 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 1 But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there ! Shine forth, thou Star of Poets."
- Of course, a punning allusion to his name ; but a right noble
one. So Wordsworth, in his Elegy on Lamb, dwelt with unusual tenderness on the aptness of his name.
