Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/78

68 Most plays are writ like almanacks of late, And serve one only year, one only state; Another makes them useless, stale, and out of date; But thine were wisely calculated, fit For each meridian, every clime of wit, For all succeeding time, and after-age, And all mankind might thy vast audience sit, And the whole world be justly made thy stage: Still they shall taking be, and ever new, Still keep in vogue in spite of all the damning crew; Till the last scene of this great theatre, Closed and shut down, The numerous actors all retire, And the grand play of human life be done. Beshrew those envious tongues who seek to blast thy bays, Who spots in thy bright fame would find, or raise, And say it only shines with borrowed rays; Rich in thyself, to whose unbounded store Exhausted nature could vouchsafe no more, Thou couldst alone the empire of the stage maintain, Couldst all its grandeur, and its port sustain, Nor needest others subsidies to pay, Needest no tax on foreign, or thy native country lay, To bear the charges of thy purchased fame, But thy own stock could raise the same, Thy sole revenue all the vast expense defray: Yet, like some mighty conqueror in poetry, Designed by fate of choice to be Founder of its new universal monarchy, Boldly thou didst the learned world invade, Whilst all around thy powerful genius swayed, Soon vanquished Rome, and Greece were made submit, Both were thy humble tributaries made, And thou returnedst in triumph with her captive wit.