Anonymous, 1672
In country beauties, as we often see
Something that takes in their simplicity;
Yet while they charm, they know not they are fair,
And take without their spreading of the snare;
Such artless beauty lies in Shakespeare’s wit,
’Twas well in spite of him what ere he writ.
His excellencies came and were not sought,
His words like casual atoms made a thought:
Drew up themselves in rank and file, and writ,
He wond’ring how the Devil it were such wit.
Thus like the drunken tinker, in his play,
He grew a prince, and never knew which way.
He did not know what trope or figure meant,
But to persuade is to be eloquent;
So in this Cæsar which this day you see,
Tully ne’er spoke as he makes Anthony.
Those then that tax his learning are to blame,
He knew the thing, but did not know the name:
Great Jonson did that ignorance adore,
And though he envied much, admir’d him more.
The faultless Jonson equally writ well:
Shakespeare made faults; but then did more excell.
One close at guard like some old fencer lay,
T’other more open, but he show’d more play.
In imitation Jonson’s wit was shown,
Heaven made his men but Shakespeare made his own.
Wise Jonson’s talent in observing lay,
But other’s follies still made up his play.
He drew the like in each elaborate line,
But Shakespeare, like a master, did design.
Jonson with skill dissected human kind,
And show’d their faults that they their faults might find.
But then, as all anatomists must do,
He to the meanest of mankind did go,
And took from gibbets such as he would show.
Both are so great that he must boldly dare,
Who both of ’em does judge and both compare.
If amongst poets, one more bold there be,
The man that dare attempt in either way, is he.
Covent Garden Drollery, or a Collection of all the Choice Songs, Poems, Prologues, and Epilogues (Sung and Spoken at Courts and Theaters), never in Print before. Written by the refined’st Witts of the Age, and collected by A. B. [? Alex. Brome]. 1672.