* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXXVI.
[From “Love’s Dominion, a Dramatic Pastoral,” by Richard Flecknoe,
1634.]
_Invocation to Silence._
Still-born Silence, thou that art
Floodgate of the deeper heart;
Offspring of a heavenly kind;
Frost o’ th’ mouth and thaw o’ th’ mind;
Secresy’s Confident, and he
That makes religion Mystery;
Admiration’s speaking’st tongue,--
Leave thy desart shades, among
Reverend Hermits’ hallow’d cells,
Where retir’d’st Devotion dwells:
With thy Enthusiasms come;
Seize this Maid, and strike her dumb.
_Fable._
Love and Death o’ th’ way once meeting,
Having past a friendly greeting,
Sleep their weary eye-lids closing,
Lay them down, themselves reposing;
When this fortune did befall ’em,
Which after did so much appal ’em;
Love, whom divers cares molested,
Could not sleep; but, whilst Death rested,
All away in haste he posts him.
But his haste full dearly costs him;
For it chanced, that, going to sleeping,
Both had giv’n their darts in keeping
Unto Night; who (Error’s Mother)
Blindly knowing not th’ one from th’ other,
Gave Love Death’s, and ne’er perceiv’d it,
Whilst as blindly Love receiv’d it:
Since which time, their darts confounding,
Love now kills, instead of wounding;
Death, our hearts with sweetness filling,
Gently wounds, instead of killing.
* * * * *
[From “Andronicus,” a Tragedy, by Philonax Lovekin, 1661.]
_Effect of Religious Structures on different minds._
_Crato._ I grieve the Chapel was defaced; ’twas stately.
_Cleobulus._ I love no such triumphant Churches--
They scatter my devotion; whilst my sight
Is courted to observe their sumptuous cost,
I find my heart lost in my eyes;
Whilst that a holy horror seems to dwell
Within a dark obscure and humble cell.
_Crato._ But I love Churches, mount up to the skies
For my devotion rises with their roof:
Therein my soul doth heav’n anticipate.
_Song for Sleep._
Come, Somnus, with thy potent charms,
And seize this Captive in thy arms;
And sweetly drop on every sense
Thy soul-refreshing influence.
His sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste,
Unto the peace do thou bind fast.--
On working brains, at school all day,
At night thou dost bestow a play,
And troubled minds thou dost set free;
Thou mak’st both friends and foes agree:
All are alike, who live by breath,
In thee, and in thy brother Death.
* * * * *
[From “Don Quixote,” a Comedy, in three parts, by Thomas D’Urfey,
1694.]
_Dirge, at the hearse of Chrysostom._
Sleep, poor Youth, sleep in peace,
Relieved from love and mortal care;
Whilst we, that pine in life’s disease,
Uncertain-bless’d, less happy are.
Couch’d in the dark and silent grave,
No ills of fate thou now can’st fear;
In vain would tyrant Power enslave,
Or scornful Beauty be severe.
Wars, that do fatal storms disperse,
Far from thy happy mansion keep;
Earthquakes, that shake the universe,
Can’t rock thee into sounder sleep.
With all the charms of peace possest,
Secure from life’s torment or pain,
Sleep, and indulge thyself with rest;
Nor dream thou e’er shalt rise again.[369]