To Sir Richard Steele on His New Play, Call'd, The Conscious Lovers
Vouchsafe, my Friend, this hasty, honest Praise
Kind, to accept, tho' sent in humble Lays
Long Love and Friendship warm my faithful Hear
And Love and Friendship know no Rules of Art.
Much has the Stage bemoan'd the absent Muse;
His Aid the Delian God did long refuse.
No Plot (but at the Tower ) is to be seen;
The Players from Act to Act, from Scene to Scene,
In senseless Guise, do hurry, talk and move,
Play idle Tricks, and make unmeaning Love:
Raise awkward Hopes, or shew ill-grounded Fears,
Or when they force a Smile, offend our Ears:
And, if in Buskin dread the Stage is trod,
While Princes Rave or Dic, Spectators Nod.
But you, my Friend, auspicious to the Age,
Refine our Nations, and Reform the Stage.
Your Conscious Lovers to our View have brought,
Whatever Terence writ, or Horace taught;
So proper, so polite is All that's said:
What pleases seen , will please us more when read.
Oldfield and Wilks , the Hearing charm'd and Sight,
'Twas Steele the Understanding did delight.
True was the Conduct, easie was the Thread,
Which, thro' the Drama's winding Labyrinth led.
Let future Bards, from Thee, be taught the Rule,
To raise Five Acts, without a vicious Fool:
To blend with Virtue still their Comick Life,
To make the Lover True, and Chaste the Wife.
But oh! what Joy surrounds thy honest Heart,
To see so well approv'd each labour'd Part;
All the Fatigue of Writing, Wrack of Brain,
To Think, and then express the Thought again,
And the whole Stretch of Fancy, Judgment, Wit,
To make all new, and moving that is writ;
Reward, from this Reflection finds alone,
At once I've profited, and pleas'd the Town.
Thus Phydias with transported Eyes survey'd
The beauteous Virgin, which his Hands had made;
Surveying he forgot the Mallet 's Blows,
And all the Toils, which from the Chisel rose;
Forgot the Labours of the Rough-hewn Stone,
And all the various Forms it had put on;
Ere the Embryo Marble, made Adult by Art,
Grew up, thro' just Degrees, from Part to Part,
To such Perfection, that another Stroke
Had given it Breath, and it had mov'd and spoke.
The Intenseness of his Mind he now laid by,
And all the watry Piercings of his Eye;
Pleased to behold the finish'd Piece, he said,
Hail! my New-born, my beauteous Heavenly Maid!
Thy Form shall please each keen and skilful Eye,
And no Beholder shall a Flaw descry;
But chiefly shalt thou please the finest Taste;
Venus is Fair, Diana Fair and Chaste.
Kind, to accept, tho' sent in humble Lays
Long Love and Friendship warm my faithful Hear
And Love and Friendship know no Rules of Art.
Much has the Stage bemoan'd the absent Muse;
His Aid the Delian God did long refuse.
No Plot (but at the Tower ) is to be seen;
The Players from Act to Act, from Scene to Scene,
In senseless Guise, do hurry, talk and move,
Play idle Tricks, and make unmeaning Love:
Raise awkward Hopes, or shew ill-grounded Fears,
Or when they force a Smile, offend our Ears:
And, if in Buskin dread the Stage is trod,
While Princes Rave or Dic, Spectators Nod.
But you, my Friend, auspicious to the Age,
Refine our Nations, and Reform the Stage.
Your Conscious Lovers to our View have brought,
Whatever Terence writ, or Horace taught;
So proper, so polite is All that's said:
What pleases seen , will please us more when read.
Oldfield and Wilks , the Hearing charm'd and Sight,
'Twas Steele the Understanding did delight.
True was the Conduct, easie was the Thread,
Which, thro' the Drama's winding Labyrinth led.
Let future Bards, from Thee, be taught the Rule,
To raise Five Acts, without a vicious Fool:
To blend with Virtue still their Comick Life,
To make the Lover True, and Chaste the Wife.
But oh! what Joy surrounds thy honest Heart,
To see so well approv'd each labour'd Part;
All the Fatigue of Writing, Wrack of Brain,
To Think, and then express the Thought again,
And the whole Stretch of Fancy, Judgment, Wit,
To make all new, and moving that is writ;
Reward, from this Reflection finds alone,
At once I've profited, and pleas'd the Town.
Thus Phydias with transported Eyes survey'd
The beauteous Virgin, which his Hands had made;
Surveying he forgot the Mallet 's Blows,
And all the Toils, which from the Chisel rose;
Forgot the Labours of the Rough-hewn Stone,
And all the various Forms it had put on;
Ere the Embryo Marble, made Adult by Art,
Grew up, thro' just Degrees, from Part to Part,
To such Perfection, that another Stroke
Had given it Breath, and it had mov'd and spoke.
The Intenseness of his Mind he now laid by,
And all the watry Piercings of his Eye;
Pleased to behold the finish'd Piece, he said,
Hail! my New-born, my beauteous Heavenly Maid!
Thy Form shall please each keen and skilful Eye,
And no Beholder shall a Flaw descry;
But chiefly shalt thou please the finest Taste;
Venus is Fair, Diana Fair and Chaste.
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