“Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.”
To you alone we owe this prosperous day;
Our wives and children rescued from the prey:
Know your own interest, sir; where'er you lead,
We jointly vow to own no other head.
_Solym._ Your wrongs are known. Impose but your commands,
This hour shall bring you twenty thousand hands.
_Aur._ Let them, who truly would appear my friends,
Employ their swords, like mine, for noble ends.
No more: Remember you have bravely done;
Shall treason end what loyalty begun?
I own no wrongs; some grievance I confess;
But kings, like gods, at their own time redress.
Yet, some becoming boldness I may use;
I've well deserved, nor will he now refuse. [_Aside._
I'll strike my fortunes with him at a heat,
And give him not the leisure to forget.
[_Exit, attended by the Omrahs._
_Arim._ Oh! Indamora, hide these fatal eyes!
Too deep they wound whom they too soon surprise;
My virtue, prudence, honour, interest, all
Before this universal monarch fall.
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray;
Who can tread sure on the smooth slippery way?
Pleased with the passage, we slide swiftly on,
And see the dangers which we cannot shun.
_To him_ INDAMORA.
_Ind._ I hope my liberty may reach thus far;
These terrace walks within my limits are.
I came to seek you, and to let you know,
How much I to your generous pity owe.
The king, when he designed you for my guard,
Resolved he would not make my bondage hard:
If otherwise, you have deceived his end;
And whom he meant a guardian, made a friend.
_Arim._ A guardian's title I must own with shame;
But should be prouder of another name.
_Ind._ And therefore 'twas I changed that name before;
I called you friend, and could you wish for more?
_Arim._ I dare not ask for what you would not grant.
But wishes, madam, are extravagant;
They are not bounded with things possible:
I may wish more than I presume to tell.
Desire's the vast extent of human mind;
It mounts above, and leaves poor hope behind.
I could wish--
_Ind._ What?
_Arim._ Why did you speak? you've dashed my fancy quite,
Even in the approaching minute of delight.
I must take breath,
Ere I the rapture of my wish renew,
And tell you then,--it terminates in you.
“Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was meant as a standard of judging well; the chiefest part of which is to observe those excellencies which delight a reasonable reader”
What I have borrowed will be so easily discerned from my mean
productions, that I shall not need to point the reader to the places:
And truly I should be sorry, for my own sake, that any one should take
the pains to compare them together; the original being undoubtedly one
of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime poems, which either this
age or nation has produced. And though I could not refuse the
partiality of my friend, who is pleased to commend me in his verses, I
hope they will rather be esteemed the effect of his love to me, than
of his deliberate and sober judgment. His genius is able to make
beautiful what he pleases: Yet, as he has been too favourable to me, I
doubt not but he will hear of his kindness from many of our
contemporaries for we are fallen into an age of illiterate,
censorious, and detracting people, who, thus qualified, set up for
critics.
In the first place, I must take leave to tell them, that they wholly
mistake the nature of criticism, who think its business is principally
to find fault. Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was
meant a standard of judging well; the chiefest part of which is, to
observe those excellencies which should delight a reasonable reader.
If the design, the conduct, the thoughts, and the expressions of a
poem, be generally such as proceed from a true genius of poetry, the
critic ought to pass his judgement in favour of the author. It is
malicious and unmanly to snarl at the little lapses of a pen, from
which Virgil himself stands not exempted. Horace acknowledges, that
honest Homer nods sometimes: He is not equally awake in every line;
but he leaves it also as a standing measure for our judgments,
--Non, _ubi plura nitent in carmine, paucis_
Offendi _maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,
Aut humana parùm cavit natura._--
And Longinus, who was undoubtedly, after Aristotle the greatest critic
amongst the Greeks, in his twenty-seventh chapter, [Greek: PERI
HUPSOUS], has judiciously preferred the sublime genius that sometimes
errs, to the middling or indifferent one, which makes few faults, but
seldom or never rises to any excellence. He compares the first to a
man of large possessions, who has not leisure to consider of every
slight expence, will not debase himself to the management of every
trifle: Particular sums are not laid out, or spared, to the greatest
advantage in his economy; but are sometimes suffered to run to waste,
while he is only careful of the main.
“Drinking is the soldiers pleasure.”
A dragon's fiery form belied the god:
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia press'd:
And while he sought her snowy breast:
Then, round her slender waist he curl'd,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,
A present deity, they shout around,
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
CHORUS.
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
3 The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace
He shows his honest face:
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes.
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain;
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
CHORUS.
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
4 Soothed with the sound the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse
Soft pity to infuse:
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
“When I consider life, tis all a cheat. Yet, fooled by hope, men favour the deceit; trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: to-morrows falser than the former day.”
I thought, before you drew your latest breath,
To smooth your passage, and to soften death;
For I would have you, when you upward move,
Speak kindly of me, to our friends above:
Nor name me there the occasion of our fate;
Or what my interest does, impute to hate.
_Aur._ I ask not for what end your pomp's designed;
Whether to insult, or to compose my mind:
I marked it not;
But, knowing death would soon the assault begin,
Stood firm collected in my strength within:
To guard that breach did all my forces guide,
And left unmanned the quiet sense's side.
_Nour._ Because Morat from me his being took,
All I can say will much suspected look:
'Tis little to confess, your fate I grieve;
Yet more than you would easily believe.
_Aur._ Since my inevitable death you know,
You safely unavailing pity shew:
'Tis popular to mourn a dying foe.
_Nour._ You made my liberty your late request;
Is no return due from a grateful breast?
I grow impatient, 'till I find some way,
Great offices, with greater, to repay.
_Aur._ When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;
Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! None would live past years again,
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;
And, from the dregs of life, think to receive,
What the first sprightly running could not give.
I'm tired with waiting for this chemic gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
_Nour._ 'Tis not for nothing that we life pursue;
It pays our hopes with something still that's new:
Each day's a mistress, unenjoyed before;
Like travellers, we're pleased with seeing more.
Did you but know what joys your way attend,
You would not hurry to your journey's end.
_Aur._ I need not haste the end of life to meet;
The precipice is just beneath my feet.
_Nour._ Think not my sense of virtue is so small:
I'll rather leap down first, and break your fall.
My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so?) [_Taking him by the hand._
Behold me now no longer for your foe;
I am not, cannot be your enemy:
Look, is there any malice in my eye?
“In pious times ere priest craft did begin, Before polygamy was made a sin: When man, on many, multiplyd his kind Ere one to one was, cursedly, confined; When Nature prompted, and no law denyd Promiscuous use of concubine and bride”
For which reason, in this poem, he is neither brought
to set his house in order, nor to dispose of his person afterwards as he
in wisdom shall think fit. God is infinitely merciful; and his
vicegerent is only not so, because he is not infinite.
The true end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction. And he
who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender, than the
physician to the patient, when he prescribes harsh remedies to an
inveterate disease; for those are only in order to prevent the
chirurgeon's work of an _Ense rescindendum_, which I wish not to my very
enemies. To conclude all; if the body politic have any analogy to the
natural, in my weak judgment, an act of oblivion were as necessary in a
hot distempered state, as an opiate would be in a raging fever.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 66: See 'Life' for explanation for circumstances; and the key
at the close of the poem, for the real names of this satire.]
* * * * *
PART I.
--Si propiùs stes
Te capiet magis--
In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin,
Before polygamy was made a sin;
When man on many multiplied his kind,
Ere one to one was cursedly confined;
When nature prompted, and no law denied
Promiscuous use of concubine and bride;
Then Israel's monarch after Heaven's own heart,
His vigorous warmth did variously impart
To wives and slaves; and wide as his command,
Scatter'd his Maker's image through the land. 10
Michal, of royal blood, the crown did wear;
A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care:
Not so the rest; for several mothers bore
To god-like David several sons before.
But since like slaves his bed they did ascend,
No true succession could their seed attend.
Of all the numerous progeny was none
So beautiful, so brave, as Absalom:
Whether inspired by some diviner lust,
His father got him with a greater gust; 20
Or that his conscious destiny made way,
By manly beauty to imperial sway.
Early in foreign fields he won renown,
With kings and states allied to Israel's crown:
In peace the thoughts of war he could remove,
And seem'd as he were only born for love.
Whate'er he did, was done with so much ease,
In him alone 'twas natural to please:
His motions all accompanied with grace;
And Paradise was open'd in his face.
“Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.”
“Im a little wounded but Im not slain; I will lay me down for to bleed awhile, Then Ill rise and fight with you again”
“He is a fool who cannot be angry; but he is a wise man who will not”
“Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is, with thoughts of what may be.”
“Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.”
“He loved me well: so well he could but die - To show he loved me better than his life; he lost it for me”
“Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.”
“Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are”
“The intoxication of anger, like that of the grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves.”
“Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
“To die is landing on some distant shore.”
“He [Shakespeare] was the man who of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul . . . He was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and found her there.”
“By education most have been misled; so they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, and thus the child imposes on the man.”
“Accept fate, and move on. Dont yield to the seductive pull of self-pity. Acting like a victim threatens your future.”
I am sore wounded but not slainI will lay me down and bleed a whileAnd then rise up to fight again
