The Poems of John Dryden

They neither could defend, nor can pursue, But grind their Teeth, and cast a helpless view :

In vain with Darts a distant War they try,
Short, and more short the missive Weapons
fly.

Mean while the Ravishers their Crimes enjoy,
And flying Sails, and sweeping Oars employ :
The Cliffs of Rhodes in little space are lost;
Jove's Isle they seek; nor jove denies his
Coast.

There Cymon with his Rhodian Friend resides,

Both Court, and Wed at once the willing
Brides.

A War ensues, the Cretans own their Cause,
Stiff to defend their hospitable Laws:
Both Parties lose by turns; and neither
wins,

Till Peace propounded by a Truce begins.
The Kindred of the Slain forgive the Deed,
But a short Exile must for Show precede;
The Term expir'd, from Candia they

In safety landed on the Candian Shore, With generous Wines their Spirits they remove; restore;

639

630 | And happy each at Home enjoys his love.

VENI CREATOR. Text from the original in Examen Poeticum, 1693.

TE DEUM.

THEE, Sovereign God, our grateful Accents praise;

We own thee Lord, and bless thy wondrous
ways;

To thee, Eternal Father, Earth's whole
Frame

With loudest Trumpets sounds immortal
Fame.

Lord God of Hosts! for thee the heav'nly
Pow'rs

With sounding Anthems fill the vaulted
Tow'rs.

Thy Cherubims thrice Holy, Holy, Holy cry; }
Thrice Holy, all the Seraphims reply,
And thrice returning Echoes endless Songs
supply.

Both Heav'n and Earth thy Majesty dis-
play;
10

They owe their Beauty to thy glorious
Ray.

Thy Praises fill the loud Apostles' Quire:
The Train of Prophets in the Song conspire.
Legions of Martyrs in the Chorus shine,
And vocal Blood with vocal Musick join.
By these thy Church, inspir'd by heav'nly
Art,

Around the World maintains a second Part,
And tunes her sweetest Notes, O God, to
thee,

The Father of unbounded Majesty ;
The Son, ador'd Co-partner of thy Seat,
And equal everlasting Paraclete.

Ilave Mercy on us, Lord, have Mercy still: As we have hop'd, do thou reward our Pain 20 We've hop'd in thee, let not our Hope be

vain.

HYMN FOR THE NATIVITY OF ST. JOHN BAPTIST,
24TH JUNE.

O SYLVAN Prophet! whose eternal Fame
Echoes from Judah's Hills and Jordan's
Stream,

The Musick of our Numbers raise,
And tune our Voices to thy Praise.

A Messenger from high Olympus came
To bear the Tidings of thy Life and Name,
And told thy Sire each Prodigy
That Heav'n design'd to work in thee.

TE DEUM. First printed as Dryden's by Scott from a Roman Catholic Primer of Hymns, 1706, HYMN FOR THE NATIVITY OF ST. JOHN. Printed with an incorrect title by Scott from the same. The title was corrected by Saintsbury, who adds

;

Hearing the News, and doubting in Surprize,
IIis faltering Speech in fetter'd Accent dy's ;
But Providence, with happy Choice,
In thee restor'd thy Father's Voice.

In the Recess of Nature's dark Abode,
Though still enclos'd, yet knewest thou thy
God;

Whilst each glad Parent told and blest
The Secrets of each other's Breast.

other verses from the Primer. There is no proof that these are Dryden's, and in any case, since the compilers of Hymn Books often deal inmorally with their texts, it seems best not to publish what may be spurious and is certain'y corrupt,

LINES IN A LETTER TO HIS LADY COUSIN,
HONOR DRIDEN,

WHO HAD GIVEN HIM A SILVER INKSTAND, WITH A SET OF

WRITING MATERIALS, 1655.

FOR since 'twas mine, the white hath lost | You, Fairest Nymph, are Waxe: Oh may its Hiew,

To show twas n'ere it selfe but whilst in
you,

The virgin Waxe hath blush'd it selfe to red
Since it with mee hath lost its Maydenhead.

you bee

As well in Softnesse as in Purity!
Till Fate and your own happy Choice reveale
Whom you so farre shall bless to make your
Seale.

LINES PRINTED UNDER THE ENGRAVED PORTRAIT
OF MILTON,

IN TONSON'S FOLIO EDITION OF THE PARADISE LOST,' 1688.

THREE Poets, in three distant Ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first in Loftiness of Thought surpass'd,
The next in Majesty, in both the last:
The Force of Nature could no farther go;
To make a third she join'd the former two.

IMPROMPTU LINES ADDRESSED TO HIS COUSIN,
MRS. CREED,

IN A CONVERSATION AFTER DINNER ON THE ORIGIN OF NAMES.

endures,

So much Religion in your Name doth dwell, | My Pray'rs shall be, while this short Life
Your Soul must needs with Piety excel.
Thus Names, like [

of old,

] Pictures drawn

Their owners' Nature and their Story told.
Your Name but half expresses, for in you
Belief and Practice do together go.

These may go Hand in Hand, with you and

FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER OF JACOB TONSON,

HIS PUBLISHER.

WITH leering Looks, Bull-fac'd, and freckl'd fair,
With two left Legs, and Judas-colour'd Hair,
And frowzy Pores that taint the ambient Air.

Lines In A LETTER. Text from the original as printed.
LINES ON MILTON. Text from the original of 1688.
IMPROMPTU LINES. Text first printed by Malone.

SONGS FROM THE PLAYS.

SONG OF AERIAL SPIRITS,

FROM

THE INDIAN QUEEN.

FROM THE SAME

A fading joy, how quickly art thou past! Yet we thy ruine haste:

POOR Mortals that are clog'd with Earth As if the Cares of Humane Life were few,

below

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We seek out new,

And follow Fate that does too fast pursue.

See how on ev'ry Bough the Birds express
In their sweet notes their happiness.
They all enjoy and nothing spare;
But on their Mother Nature lay their care:
Why then should Man, the Lord of all
below,

Such troubles chuse to know,
As none of all his Subjects undergo ?

Hark, hark, the Waters fall, fall, fall
And with a Murmuring sound
Dash, dash, upon the ground,
To gentle slumbers call.

FROM THE MAIDEN QUEEN.

FROM SIR MARTIN MARR-ALL.

Hle. Make ready fair Lady to night,
And stand at the Door below,
For I will be there

To receive you with Care,

And to your true Love you shall go.

She. And when the Stars twinckle so bright,
Then down to the Door will I creep,
To my Love will I flye,
L'er the jealous can spye,
And leave my old daddy asleep.

FROM THE SAME (after VOITURE).

BLIND Love, to this hour,

FROM AN EVENING'S LOVE.

You charm'd me not with that fair face Though it was all Divine :

To be anothers is the Grace,

That makes me wish you mine.
The Gods and Fortune take their part
Who like young Monarchs fight;
And boldly dare invade that Heart
Which is anothers right.

First mad with hope we undertake
To pull up ev'ry Bar;

But once possess'd we faintly make

A dull defensive War.

Now ev'ry Friend is turn'd a foc

In hope to get our store;

Had never like me, a Slave under his Pow'r. And passion makes us Cowards grow

Then blest be the Dart

That he threw at my heart,

For nothing can prove

A joy so great as to be wounded with love.

My Days and my Nights

Are fill'd to the purpose with sorrows and frights;