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. EDWARD PHILLIPS, 1675 (1630-1696?) William Shakespeare, the glory of the English Stage; whose nativity at Stratford-upon-Avon is the highest honour that town can boast of: from an actor of tragedies and comedies, he became a maker; and such a maker, that though some others may perhaps pretend to a more exact decorum and economy, especially in tragedy, never any expressed a more lofty and tragic height, never any represented nature more purely to the life; and where the polishments of art are most wanting, as probably his learning was not extraordinary, he pleaseth with a certain wild and native elegance; and in all his writings hath an unvulgar style, as well in his _Venus and Adonis_, his _Rape of Lucrece_, and other various poems, as in his dramatics. _Theatrum Poetarum._ 1675. Preface. _The Modern Poets_, p. 194. THOMAS OTWAY, 1680 (1652-1685) In ages past (when will those times renew?), When empires flourish’d, so did poets too. When great Augustus the world’s empire held, Horace and Ovid’s happy verse excell’d. Ovid’s soft genius, and his tender arts Of moving Nature, melted hardest hearts. It did th’ imperial beauty, Julia, move To listen to the language of his love. Her father honour’d him: and on her breast With ravish’d sense in her embraces prest, He lay transported, fancy-full and blest. Horace’s lofty genius boldlier rear’d His manly head, and through all Nature steer’d; Her richest pleasures in his verse refin’d, And wrought ’em to the relish of the mind. He lash’d with a true poet’s fearless rage, The villanies and follies of the age; Therefore Mecænas, that great fav’rite rais’d Him high, and by him was he highly prais’d. Our Shakespeare wrote, too, in an age as blest, The happiest poet of his time, and best; A gracious Prince’s favour cheer’d his muse, A constant favour he ne’er fear’d to lose. Therefore he wrote with fancy unconfin’d, And thoughts that were immortal as his mind; And from the crop of his luxuriant pen E’er since succeeding poets humbly glean. _Prologue to the History and Fall of Caius Marius. A Tragedy._ 1712. “A PERSON OF HONOUR,” 1681