Of all,that inſolent Greece, or haughtie Rome ſent forth, or fine did from their aſhes come. Triumph, my Britaine, thou haſt one to ſhowe, To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe He was not oftn age,.but for all time And all the Muſes ſtill were in their prime, when like Apollo he tame forth to warme Our eares, or like a Mercury to charme Nature her ſelfe was proud of his deſignes, And ioy'd to weare the deeſsing of his lines! which were ſo richly ſpun, and woven ſo fit, As, ſince, ſhe will vouchſafe no other Wit. The merry Greeke, tart Ariſtophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not pleaſe; But antiquated, and deſerted lye As they were not of Natures family, Yet muſt I not giue Nature all: Thy Art, My gentle Shakeſpeare, muſt enjoy apart. For though the Poets matter, Nature be, His Art doth giue the faſhion. And, that he Who caſts to write a liuing line, muſt ſweat, (ſuch as thine are) and ſtrike the ſecond heat Vpon the Muſes anuile; turne the ſame, {And himſelfe with it) that he thinkes to frame; Or for the lawrell, he may game a ſcorne, For a good Poet's made, as well as borne. And ſuch wert thou. Looks how the fathers face Lines in his iſſue, turn ſo, the race Of Shakeſpeares minde, and manners brightly ſhines In his well torned, and true filed lines: In each of which, he ſemes to ſhake a Lance, As brandiſhe at the eyes of Ignorance. Sweet Swan of Auon! what a fight it were To ſee thee in our waters yet appeare. And make thoſe flights vpon the bankes of Thames, That ſo did take Eliza, and our Iames! But ſay, l ſee thee in the Hemiſphere Aduanc'd, and made a Conſternation there! Shine forth,thou Starreof Poets, and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage; which, ſince thy flight fro hence, hath mourn'd like night, And deſpaires day, but for thy Volumes light.
Ben Ionſon
