Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/135

And spent at last, and speechless as he lies,
With fiery Glances mocks their Rage, and dies.
This is the utmost Stretch that Nature can,
And all beyond is fulsome, false, and vain.
The Roman Wit, who impiously divides
His Hero, and his Gods, to different Sides,
I wou'd condemn, but that, in spight of Sense,
Th’ admiring World still stands in his Defence:
The Gods, permitting Traitors to succeed,
Become not Parties in an impious Deed,
And, by the Tyrant’s Murder, we may find
That Cato and the Gods were of a Mind.
Thus forcing Truth with such prepostrous Praise,
Our Character we lessen, when we’d raise;
Like Castles built by Magick Art in Air,
That vanish at Approach, such Thoughts appear;
But rais'd on Truth, by some judicious Hand.
As on a Rock, they shall for Ages stand.
Our King return'd, and banish'd Peace restor'd,
The Muse ran mad, to see her exil'd Lord;
On the crack'd Stage the Bedlam Heroes roar'd,
And scarce cou'd speak on reasonable Word:
Dryden himself, to please a frantick age,
Was forc'd to let his Judgment stoop to Rage,
To a wild Audience he conform'd his Voice,
Comply'd to Custom, but not err'd thro' Choice.
Deem then the People's, not the Writer's Sin,
Almansor’s Rage, and Rants of Maximin;