Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.

About this Item

Title
Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.
Author
Rymer, Thomas, 1641-1713.
Publication
London :: printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Pauls-Church-yard,
1693.
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Subject terms
Edgar, -- King of England, 943 or 4-975 -- Drama -- Early works to 1800.
Drama -- Early works to 1800.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A58017.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A58017.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 6, 2024.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

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TO THE KING.

GReat Sir, whose Throne amidst the Waters set, O're all design'd by God and Nature Great, Here, in that fam'd, long-wisht, unheard-of Spot: Stedfast on which, planting Your Royall Foot, You turn the Other World, You give it Law, You Arbitrate, and all its Motions awe. This Honour was to England early pay'd; And thus Your great Fore-runner, Edgar, sway'd. Yet were his Ships a weak, though Numerous, Train: Silent they pass'd, meer Infants of the Main. Grown up, Yours speak, in not a Mortall Strain, Threaten, and loud above the Billows beat Your dread Commands, which trembling Rocks repeat. Whilst Edgar joyfull, from his farthest Skies Looks down, and listens to the God-like Voice. When Hercules with Jason left the Shoar, Pale Greece despair'd to see her Worthies more: Charybdis gap'd, and Scylla's Dogs did howl. Who this could bear, was then a daring Soul. All Monsters seem'd in those Heroick days. Your Pleasure-boat with ruder Danger plays. If launcht in that bold Age of Poetry, Each Ship of Yours had bin a God o'th' Sea;

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Or Jove, his Form in this Disguise that shrowds: Who having left the Air, and easie Clouds, Below a rougher Element controlls, And Thunder o're more solid Water rouls. This made Divining Priests of old preferr The Oak, as sacred to the Thunderer; The Oak, of old, that in Dodona reign'd. Now Oracles Your onely Forrests send, Which promise Seas and Empire without End. Grafted on these, the fairest Lawrells grow, And Wreaths that best adorn an English Brow. This Navall Power made Edgar's chiefest Pride, (Four thousand Sail spred o're the Ocean wide) Whence Terrour on remotest Shoars was thrown, When Halcyon-days and Plenty blest his own. Thus, whilst Your Flags, wav'd high, for Homage call, And angry Nations let their Topsails fall; With Peace Your larger Empire happy made, Rests undisturb'd, rejoycing in the Shade. High on His Throne, and fill'd with Royall Care, Thus —You alone, great Edgar's Person bear. Vnking'd, in Love, we represent him here.
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