Our rural ancestors, with very little blest, Individual of labour when the finish was rest, Indulged the working day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off’rings, and a thankful pressure: The joy their wives, their sons, and servants share, Simplicity of their toil, and companions of their care: The giggle, the jest, attendants on the bowl, Smoothed each and every brow, and opened each individual soul: With expanding yrs the satisfying licence grew, And taunts alternate innocently flew.
But moments corrupt, and Nature, ill-inclined, Developed the point that left a sting at the rear of Until close friend with close friend, and family members at strife, Triumphant malice raged as a result of personal existence. Who felt the completely wrong, or feared it, took th’ alarm, Appealed to regulation, and justice lent her arm. At duration, by wholesome dread of statutes bound, The https://www.reddit.com/r/EssayTracks/comments/198zgxp/help_with_essay_writing_please/ poets uncovered to make sure you, and not to wound: Most warped to flatt’ry’s facet but some more wonderful, Preserved the independence, and forebore the vice.
Hence satire rose, that just the medium strike, And heals with morals what it hurts with wit. We conquered France, but felt our captive’s charms Her arts victorious triumphed o’er our arms Britain to soft refinements fewer a foe, Wit grew well mannered, and quantities discovered to stream. Waller was easy but Dryden taught to be part of > The different verse, the complete-resounding line, > The lengthy majestic march, and vitality divine.
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> Though nonetheless some traces of our rustic vein And splay-foot verse, remained, and will stay. Late, extremely late, correctness grew our care, When the weary country breathed from civil war. Exact Racine, and Corneille’s noble fire, Showed us that France experienced one thing to admire. Not but the tragic spirit was our possess, And full in Shakespeare, fair in Otway shone: But Otway failed to polish or refine, And fluent Shakespeare scarce effaced a line. E’en copious Dryden preferred, or forgot The last and biggest art, the art to blot.
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Some question, if equivalent pains, or equivalent fire The humbler Muse of comedy involve. But in recognized pictures of everyday living, I guess The labour bigger, as th’ indulgence less. Notice how rarely even the most effective succeed: Inform me if Congreve’s fools are fools in truth? What pert, minimal dialogue has Farquhar writ! How Van would like grace, who never ever required wit! The phase how loosely does Astræa tread, Who reasonably places all characters to bed! And idle Cibber, how he breaks the legal guidelines, To make bad Pinky try to eat with vast applause! But fill their purse, our poet’s get the job done is accomplished, Alike to them, by pathos or by pun.
O you! whom vanity’s gentle bark conveys On fame’s mad voyage by the wind of praise, With what a shifting gale your class you ply, For ever sunk also minimal, or borne way too high! Who pants for glory finds but limited repose, A breath revives him, or a breath o’erthrows. Farewell the stage! if just as thrives the perform, The silly bard grows body fat, or falls away.
There even now stays, to mortify a wit, The lots of-headed monster of the pit A senseless, worthless, and unhonoured group Who, to disturb their betters mighty happy, Clatt’ring their sticks just before ten strains are spoke, Phone for the farce, the bear, or the black-joke. What dear delight to Britons farce affords! At any time the flavor of mobs, but now of lords (Style, that everlasting wanderer, which flies From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes).
