Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/74

64 Never till thee, the theatre possessed A prince with equal power and greatness blessed; No government, or laws it had To strengthen and establish it, Till thy great hand the sceptre swayed, But groaned under a wretched anarchy of wit: Unformed and void was then its poesy, Only some pre-existing matter we Perhaps could see, That might foretel what was to be; A rude and undigested lump it lay, Like the old chaos, e'er the birth of light and day, Till thy brave genius like a new creator came, And undertook the mighty frame. No shuffled atoms did the well-built work compose, It from no lucky hit of blundering chance arose, (As some of this great fabric idly dream) But wise, all seeing judgment did contrive, And knowing art its graces give: No sooner did thy soul with active force and fire The dull and heavy mass inspire, But straight throughout it let us see Proportion, order, harmony, And every part did to the whole agree, And straight appeared a beauteous, new-made world of poetry. Let dull and ignorant pretenders art condemn; (Those only foes to art, and art to them)