“A sober prince’s government is best.” 
  This is not all:  your art the way has found
  To make the improvement of the richest ground;
  That soil which those immortal laurels bore,
  That once the sacred Maro’s temples wore. 
  Eliza’s griefs are so express’d by you,
  They are too eloquent to have been true. 60
  Had she so spoke, AEneas had obey’d
  What Dido, rather than what Jove had said. 
  If funeral rites can give a ghost repose,
  Your Muse so justly has discharged those;
  Eliza’s shade may now its wandering cease,
  And claim a title to the fields of peace. 
  But if AEneas be obliged, no less
  Your kindness great Achilles doth confess;
  Who, dress’d by Statius[3] in too bold a look,
  Did ill become those virgin robes he took. 70
  To understand how much we owe to you,
  We must your numbers, with your author’s, view: 
  Then we shall see his work was lamely rough,
  Each figure stiff, as if design’d in buff: 
  His colours laid so thick on every place,
  As only show’d the paint, but hid the face. 
  But as in perspective we beauties see,
  Which in the glass, not in the picture, be;
  So here our sight obligingly mistakes
  That wealth, which his your bounty only makes. 80
  Thus vulgar dishes are by cooks disguised,
  More for their dressing than their substance prized. 
  Your curious notes so search into that age,
  When all was fable but the sacred page,
  That, since in that dark night we needs must stray,
  We are at least misled in pleasant way. 
  But what we most admire, your verse no less
  The prophet than the poet doth confess. 
  Ere our weak eyes discern’d the doubtful streak
  Of light, you saw great Charles his morning break. 90
  So skilful seamen ken the land from far,
  Which shows like mists to the dull passenger. 
  To Charles your Muse first pays her duteous love,
  As still the ancients did begin from Jove;
  With Monk you end,[4] whose name preserved shall be,
  As Rome recorded Rufus’ [5] memory,
  Who thought it greater honour to obey
  His country’s interest, than the world to sway. 
  But to write worthy things of worthy men,
  Is the peculiar talent of your pen:  100
  Yet let me take your mantle up, and I
  Will venture in your right to prophesy—­
  “This work, by merit first of fame secure,
  Is likewise happy in its geniture: 
  For, since ’tis born when Charles ascends the throne,
  It shares at once his fortune and its own.”

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote 1:  ‘Sir Robert Howard:’  brother to Dryden’s wife.]

[Footnote 2:  ‘The curious net,’ &c.:  a compliment to a poem of Sir Robert’s, called ‘Rete Mirabile.’]