_To Himself, and the Harp._
AND why not I, as he
That's greatest, if as free,
(In sundry strains that strive,
Since there so many be),
Th' old Lyric kind revive?
I will, yea; and I may:
Who shall oppose my way?
For what is he alone,
That of himself can say,
He's Heir of Helicon.
APOLLO and the Nine
Forbid no man their shrine,
That cometh with hands pure;
Else, they be so divine,
They will not him endure.
For they be such coy things;
That they care not for Kings,
And dare let them know it:
Nor may he touch their Springs
That is not born a Poet.
[Sidenote: PYRENÆUS,
King of Phocis
attempting to
ravish the
Muses.]
The Phocean it did prove,
Whom when foul lust did move
Those Maids, unchaste to make;
Fell as with them he strove,
His neck and justly brake.
That instrument ne'er heard,
Struck by the skilful Bard,
It strongly to awake;
But it th' infernals scared,
And made Olympus quake.
[Sidenote: 1 Samuel xvi.]
As those prophetic strings,
Whose sounds with fiery wings
Drave fiends from their abode;
Touched by the best of Kings,
That sang the holy Ode.
[Sidenote: ORPHEUS the
Thracian Poet.
_Caput, Hebre,
lyramque
excipis, &c._
OVID.
_Metam._ xi.]
So his, which women slew:
And it int' Hebrus threw;
Such sounds yet forth it sent,
The banks to weep that drew,
As down the stream it went.
[Sidenote: MERCURY,
inventor of the
harp, as HORACE.
Ode 10, Lib. I.,
_curvæque lyræ
parentem_.]
That by the tortoise shell,
To MAYA's son it fell,
The most thereof not doubt:
But sure some Power did dwell
In him who found it out.
[Sidenote: Thebes feigned
to have been
raised by music.]
The wildest of the field,
And air, with rivers t' yield,
Which moved; that sturdy glebes,
And mossy oaks could wield,
To raise the piles of Thebes.
And diversely though strung,
So anciently We sung
To it; that now scarce known,
If first it did belong
To Greece, or if our own.
[Sidenote: The ancient
British Priests,
so called of their
abode in woods.]
The Druids embrued
With gore, on altars rude
With sacrifices crowned,
In hollow woods bedewed,
Adored the trembling sound.
[Sidenote: PINDAR, Prince of the Greek Lyrics, of whom
HORACE, _PINDARUM quisquis studet, &c._ Ode 2, Lib. IV.]
Though we be _all_ to seek
Of PINDAR, that great Greek,
To finger it aright;
The soul with power to strike:
His hand retained such might.
[Sidenote: HORACE, first of
the Romans in
that kind.]
Or him that Rome did grace,
Whose Airs we all embrace:
That scarcely found his peer;
Nor giveth PHŒBUS place,
For strokes divinely clear.
[Sidenote: The Irish Harp.]
The Irish I admire,
And still cleave to that Lyre
As our Music's mother:
And think, till I expire,
APOLLO's such another.
As Britons that so long
Have held this antique Song;
And let all our carpers
Forbear their fame to wrong:
Th'are right skilful harpers.
[Sidenote: SOOWTHERN, an English Lyric.
[His _PANDORA_ was published in 1584.]]
SOOWTHERN, I long thee spare;
Yet wish thee well to fare,
Who me pleasedst greatly:
As first, therefore more rare,
Handling thy harp neatly.
To those that with despite
Shall term these Numbers slight;
Tell them, Their judgment's blind!
Much erring from the right.
It is a noble kind.
[Sidenote: An Old English
Rhymer.]
Nor is 't the Verse doth make,
That giveth, or doth take:
'Tis possible to climb,
To kindle, or to slake;
Although in SKELTON's rhyme.