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Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke :

“ Deceitful nymph! I see thy art;; And, though I can't my gift revoke,

I'll disappoint its nobler part.

Let stubborn pride possess thee long,

And be thou negligent of fame; With every Muse to grace thy song,

May'st thou despise a poet's name!.

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Of modest poets thou be first;

To silent shades repeat thy verse, Till Fame and Echo almost burst,

Yet hardly dare one line rehearse.

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And last, my vengeance to complete,

May'st thou descend to take renown, Prevail'd on by the thing you hate,

A whig! and one that wears a gown

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[In the preface to the Miscellanies, in which this lively satire

first appeared, the authors express some compunction for having written it.: It does injustice to Vanbrugh, both as a poet and architect. The comedies of that celebrated dramatist afford excellent examples of light, easy, and natural dialogues;

and were, as Cibber has recorded, less troublesome to the memory of the performers than those of any other dramatist. He died at the house in Whitehall (here ridiculed), 26th March 1726.)

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1

In times of old, when Time was young, 1,
And poets their own verses şung, 47-51019
A verse would draw a stone or beam,
That now would overload a: team;
Lead them a dance of many a mile, I
Then rear them to a goodly, pile.
Each number had its different power: -
Heroic strains could build a tower;

:!!
Sonnets, or elegies to Chloris,
Might raise a house about two stories ;,"iter
A lyric ode would slate; a catch
Would tile; an, epigram would thatch. j. ;.

But, to their own or landlord's costo to,
Now Poets feel this art is lost.
Not one of all our tuneful throng
Can raise a lodging for a song.
For Jove consider'd well the case,
Observ'd they grew a numerous race;
And should they build as fast as write,
'Twould ruin undertakers quite.
This evil therefore to prevent,
He wisely chang'd their element :
On earth the God of Wealth was made
Sole patron of the building trade;
Leaving the Wits the spacious air,
With licence to build castles there :
And 'tis conceiv'd, their old pretence
To lodge in garrets comes from thence.

Premising thus, in modern way,
The better half we have to say ;

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Sing, Muse, the house of Poet Van,
In higher strains than we began.

Van (for 'tis fit the reader know it)
Is both a Herald * and a Poet

; No wonder then if nicely skill'd In both capacities to build. As Herald, he can in a day Repair a house gone to decay Or, by achievements, arms, dėvice, 1601973rinn? Erect a new one in a trice, *****, Philik, ?:58] And as a Poet, he ha's skill i

'; ! ! ! ! To build in speculation stily.

1987 for? “ Great Jove!" he'cry'd, “the art restore" To build by verse as Keretofore," "; And make my Muse the architect; What palaces shall we eréct! No longer shall forsaken "Thames Lament his old Whitehall in flames; A pile shall from its ashes rise, Fit to invade or prop the skies.

20 Jove smild, and like a gentle god," 1"t) 1,7

PLACUT
Consenting with the usual nód,
Told Van, he knew his talent best,

?!?“) jul
And left the choice to his own breast...
So Van resolv'd to write a farce ;
But, well perceiving wit was scarce,

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With cunning that defect supplies:
Takes a French play as lawful prize;
Steals thence his plot and every joke,
Not once suspecting Jove would smoke;
And (like a wag set down to write).
Would whisper to himself, “ a bite."

* Sir John Vanbrugh at that time held the office of Clarencieux king of arms, which he afterwards disposed of.

+ Several of Vanbrugh's plays are taken from Moliere

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Then, from this motley mingled style,
Proceeded to éreot his pile.',
So men of old, to gain renown, diď
Build Babel with their tongues confounded.
Jove saw the cheat, but thought it best
To turn the matter to a jest:
Down from Olympus' top he' slides, 56 :
Laughing as if he'd burst his sides:
Ay, thought the god, are these your tricks?
Why then old plays deserve old bricks ;;
And since you're sparing of your stuff,
Your building shall be small enough.
He spake, and grudging, lent his aid;
Th' experienc'd bricks, that knew their trade,
(As being bricks at second-hand)
Now move, and now in order stand.

The building, as the Poet writ;
Rose in proportion to his wit:
And first the prologue built a wall;
So wide as to encompass all. :
The scene, a wood, produc!d no more
Than a few scrubby trees before.
The plot as yet lay deep; and so
A cellar next; was dug below:
But this a work so hard was found,
Two acts it cost him under ground.
Two other acts, we may presume,
Were spent in building each a room :
Thus far advanc'd, he made a shift
To raise a roof with act the fifth.
The epilogue behind did frame
A place not.decent here to name.

Now Poets from all quarters ran,
To see the house of brother Van:
Look'd high and low, walk'd often round;
But no such house was to be found.

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One asks the watermen hard by," : ...] “ Where may the Poet's palace lie ?"...

. . Another of the Thames inquires, 61,1

!!... If he has seen its gilded spires ?

. :
At length they in the rubbish spy
A thing resembling a goose-pye.
Thither in haste the Poets throng;

o
And gaze in silent wonder long.
Till one in raptures thus began
To praise the pile and builder Van :

“Thrice happy Poet! who mayst trail Thy house about thee like a snail:

1
Or, harness'd to a nag, at ease
Take journies in it like a chaise ;
Or in a boat whene'er thou wilt,
Canst make it serve thee for a tilt!
Capacious house ! 'tis own'd by all

.
Thou’rt well contriv'd, though thou art small :
For every Wit in Britain's isle
May lodge within thy spacious pile.si
Like Bacchus thou, as Poets feign, 23,'.

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Thy mother burnt, art born again,
Born like a phenix from the flame :
But neither bulk nor shape the same;
As animals of largest size
Corrupt to maggots, worms, and flies;
A type of modern wit and style,
The rubbish of an ancient pile :
So chemists boast they have a power,
From the dead ashes of a flower
Some faint resemblance to produce,
But not the virtue, taste, or juice.
So modern rhymers wisely blast

of

ages past; Which,' after they have overthrown, They from its ruins build their own."

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The poetry

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