Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to

show

To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. 46
Nature herself was proud of his designs
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines,
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit:
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not
please,

51

But antiquated and deserted lie,
As they were not of Nature's family:
Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art, 55
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part:
For though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion; and that he1
Who casts to write a living line must
sweat,

60

Weep with me all you that read
This little story;

And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.

In grace and feature,

(Such as thine are) and strike the second Twas a child that so did thrive
heat
Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same
(And himself with it) that he thinks to
frame,

Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn;
For a good poet's made, as well as born.
And such wert thou; look how the father's
face

Lives in his issue, even so the race

As heaven and nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.

Years he numbered scarce thirteen
When fates turned cruel,

Yet three filled zodiacs had he been
The stage's jewel;

65

And did act, what now we moan,

Of Shakespeare's mind and manners

brightly shines

In his well turnèd and true filèd3 lines,

Old men so duly,

5

ΙΟ

As, sooth, the Parcae thought him

one,

He played so truly.

In each of which he seems to shake a lance, So, by error, to his fate

As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 70
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were
To see thee in our waters yet appear,
And make those flights upon the banks of
Thames,

15

20

GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR

* plans.

' polished.

Queen Elizabeth.

6

Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the Devil's foot;

years.

7 the Fates.

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; They preach, "In greatness is no trust."