ASTROLOGY.

If he chance to find

A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars and thinks it luxury.

ADDISON.

Thanks to my stars, I have not ranged about
The wilds of life ere I could find a friend.
ADDISON.
Man is his own star, and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate—
Nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows, that walk by us still.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Though cheats, yet more intelligible
Than those that with the stars do fribble.
BUTLER: Hudibras.

But with more lucky hit than those
That use to make the stars depose.

BUTLER: Hudibras.

I only deal by rules of art, Such as are lawful, and judge by Conclusions of astrology.

BUTLER: Hudibras.

Cardan believed great states depend
Upon the tip o' th' bear's tail's end;
That as she whisk'd it t'wards the sun,

Strow'd mighty empires up and down.

BUTLER: Hudibras.

They'll find i' the physiognomies O' th' planets all men's destinies.

BUTLER: Hudibras.

Quoth Hudibras, The stars determine
You are my prisoners, base vermin!
Could they not tell you so, as well
As what I came to know foretell?

BUTLER: Hudibras.

Many rare pithy saws concerning The worth of astrologic learning.

BUTLER: Hudibras.

Cry out upon the stars for doing Ill offices, to cross their wooing.

45

Large foundations may be safely laid,
Or houses roof'd, if friendly planets aid.
CREECH.

The Greek names this the horoscope,
This governs life, and this marks out our parts;
Our humours, manners, qualities, and arts.

CREECH.

We must trust to virtue, not to fate;
That may protect, whom cruel stars will hate.
SIR W. DAVENANT: Distresses.
Unskill'd in schemes by planets to foreshow,
I neither will nor can prognosticate
To the young gaping heir his father's fate.

DRYDEN. The spiteful stars have shed their venom down, And now the peaceful planets take their turn. DRYDEN.

Such sullen planets at my birth did shine,
They threaten every fortune mixt with mine.
DRYDEN.

Sorceries to raise th' infernal pow'rs,
And sigils framed in planetary hours.

Noble Boyle, not less in nature seen
Than his great brother read in states and men.
DRYDEN.

Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here,
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear.
DRYDEN.

In easy dialogues is Fletcher's praise:
He moved the mind, but had not pow'r to raise.
DRYDEN.

When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin,
As thou whose Eth'ridge dost transfuse to thine?
But so transfused as oil and waters flow:
His always floats above, thine sinks below.
DRYDEN.
Ganfride, who couldst so well in rhyme com-
plain

The death of Richard, with an arrow slain.
DRYDEN.
Homer, whose name shall live in epic song,
While music numbers, or while verse has feet.
DRYDEN.

Three poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn:
The first in majesty of thought surpass'd,
The next in gracefulness; in both the last.
The force of nature could no further go:
To make a third she join'd the other two.
DRYDEN: On Milton.

Horace, with sly insinuating grace,
Laugh'd at his friend, and look'd him in the
face;

Would raise a blush where secret vice he found, And tickle while he gently probed the wound; With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled, But made the desperate passes when he smiled. DRYDEN.

Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name;
Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise,
And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise.

DRYDEN.

Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young flight,

Did no Volpone, nor no Arbaces write;
But hopp'd about, and short excursions made
From bough to bough, as if they were afraid.
DRYDEN.

Lucan, content with praise, may lie at ease
In costly grots and marble palaces;
But to poor Bassus what avails a name,
To starve on compliments and empty fame?
DRYDEN.

Orestes' bulky rage,

Unsatisfied with margins closely writ,
Foams o'er the covers, and not finish'd yet.
DRYDEN.

Next Petrarch follow'd, and in him we see What rhyme, improved in all its height, can be; At best a pleasing sound, and sweet barbarity.

DRYDEN.

Saint Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time,
Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme;
Though they in numbers as in sense excel,
So just, so like tautology, they fell.

DRYDEN.

Shadwell alone of all my sons is he Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity.

DRYDEN.

The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, But Shadwell never deviates into sense.

DRYDEN.

Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through, and make a lucid interval; But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray, His rising fogs prevail upon the day.

DRYDEN.

Anger would indite Such woful stuff as I or Shadwell write. DRYDEN.

Shadwell till death true dulness would main

tain;

And, in his father's right and realm's defence, Ne'er would have peace with wit, nor truce with

sense.

DRYDEN.