ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Sir John Cotton, "To the Memory of my Noble Friend, Mr. Waller" Poems to the Memory of that incomparable Poet Edmond Waller (1688) 1-2.
1655 ca.: Charles Cotton
1667: Sir William Temple
1670 ca.: Lord Clarendon
1673: Richard Flecknoe
1678: Thomas Rymer
1680: Earl of Rochester
1683: John Dryden
1688: Aphra Behn
1688: Bevil Higgons
1688: Sir John Cotton
1688: Thomas Rymer
1693: J. Talbot
1694: Joseph Addison
1699: Charles Gildon
1700: Samuel Cobb
1700 ca.: John Hughes
1710 ca.: Gilbert Burnet
1712: Bezaleel Morrice
1713: Rev. Henry Felton
1720: Giles Jacob
1721: Judith Cowper Madan
1721: Mr. B.
1721: Mr. Johnson
1728: James Ralph
1728: Jane Brereton
1735: Mary Barber
1744: Dr. Mark Akenside
1746: Edmund Burke
1761: Rev. Charles Churchill
1769: Daniel Hayes
1774: Rev. Robert Potter
1776: Oliver Goldsmith
1776: John Nichols
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1787: Samuel Jackson Pratt
1789: Philip Neve
1789: Edmond Malone
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1800: Dr. Nathan Drake
1802: George Dyer
1803: George Dyer
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1807: Robert Southey
1812: William Henry Ireland
1818: William Hazlitt
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1826: Richard Ryan
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1842: C. H. Timperley
1851: Leigh Hunt
1880: Edmund Gosse
1882: Epes Sargent
Sir John Cotton:
1688: Edmund Waller
Not Sleep, beneath the Shade in Flow'ry Fields,
To th' weary Traveller more Pleasure yeilds;
Nor, to asswage his Thirst, the living Spring,
I' th' heat of Summer, more delight does bring;
Than unto me thy well Tun'd Numbers do,
In which thou dost both please and profit too.
Born in a Clime where Storms and Tempests grow;
Far from the Place where Helicon does flow:
The Muses travel'd far to bless thy Sight,
And taught thee how to Think, and how to Write.
Th' Ascraean Shepherd tells us he indeed
Had seen them dancing, while his Flocks did feed,
Not Petrarch's Laura, nor bright Stella's Fame,
Shall longer live than Sacharissa's Name.
Thou do'st not write like those, who brand the Times,
And themselves most, with sharp Satyrick Rhimes:
Nor does thy Muse, with smutty Verses, tear
The modest Virgin's chast and tender Ear.
Free from their Faults, what e're thy Muse indites,
Not Ovid, nor Tibullus softer writes.
The choice of tuneful Words t' express our Thought,
By thy Example we have first been taught.
Our English *Virgil, and our Pindar too,
In this ('tis said) some negligence did shew.
I'le add but this, lest while I think to raise
Thy worth, I kindly injure thee with Praise.
Thy Verses have a Genius, and must
Live until all things crumble into Dust.