Madagascar; with Other Poems/To Doctor Duppa, Deane of Christ-Church, and Tutor to the Prince

by William Davenant

 

TO
Doctor Duppa, Deane
of Christ-Church, and Tutor to
the Prince.

An acknowledgment for his col­lection,
in Honour of Ben. Iohnson's
memory.

 

How shall I sleepe to night, that am to pay
By a bold vow, a mighty Debt ere Day?
Which all the Poets of this Island owe:
Like Palnea, neglected, it will greater grow.
How vainly from my single Stock of Wit,
(As small, as is my Art, to Husband it)
I have adventur'd what they durst not doe
With strong confed'rate Art, and Nature too.
This Debt hereditary is, and more
Than can be pay'd for such an Ancestor;
Who living, all the Muses Treasure spent,
As if they him, their Heire, not Steward meant.
Forrests of Mirtle, he disforrested,
That neere to Helicon their shades did spred;
Like Moderne Lords, w'are so of Rent bereft;
Poets, and they, have nought but Titles left:
He wasted all in Wreaths, for's conqu'ring Wit;
Which was so strong, as nought could conquer it
But's Judgment's force, and that more rul'd the sense
Of what he writ, than's Fancy's vaste expence.
Of that hee still was lavishly profuse;
For joyne the remnant-Wealth of ev'ry Muse,
And t'will not pay the Debt wee owe to thee,
For honours done unto his Memory:
Thus then, he brought th'Estate into decay,
With which, this Debt, wee as his Heires should pay.
As sullen Heires, when wastefull Fathers die,
Their old Debts leave for their Posteritie
To cleere; and the remaining Akers strive
T'enjoy, to keepe them pleasant whilst alive;
So I (alas!) were to my selfe unkinde,
If from that little Wit, he left behinde,
I simply should so great a debt defray;
I'le keepe it to maintaine mee, not to pay.
Yet, for my soul's last quiet when I die,
I will commend it to posteritie:
Although 'tis fear'd ('cause they are left so poore)
They'll but acknowledge, what they should restore:
However, since I now may erne my Bayes,
Without the taint of flatterie in prayse;
Since I've the luck, to make my prayses true.
I'le let them know, to whom this Debt is due:
Due unto you, whose learning can direct
Why Faith must trust, what Reason would suspect:
Teach Faith to rule, but with such temp'rate law,
As Reason not destroys, yet keeps't in awe:
Wise you; the living-Volume, which containes
All that industrious Art, from Nature gaines;
The usefull, open-Booke, to all unty'd;
That knowes more, than halfe-Knowers seeme to hide
And with an easie cheerefulnesse reveale,
What they, through want, not sullennesse conceale.
That, to great-faithlesse-Wits, can truth dispence
'Till't turne, their witty scorne, to reverence:
Make them confesse, their greatest error springs,
From curious gazing on the least of Things;
With reading smaller prints, they spoyle their Sight,
Darken themselves, then rave, for want of light:
Shew them, how full they are of subtle sinne,
When Faith's great Cable, they would nicely spinne
To Reason's slender Threads; then (falsely bold)
When they have weakned it, cry, t'wilt not hold!
To him, that so victorious still doth grow,
In knowledge, and t'enforce others to know;
Humble in's strength; not cunning, to beguile,
Nor strong, to overcome, but reconcile:
To Arts Milde Conqueror; that is, to you,
Our sadly mention'd Debt, is justly due:
And now Posteritie is taught to know,
Why, and to whom, this mighty Summe they owe,
I safely may goe sleep; for they will pay
It all at times, although I breake my Day.

 

FINIS.