Who Edmonds, reads thy book, and doth not see What the antique soldiers were, the moderns be? Wherein thou show'st, how much the latter are Beholding, to this master of the war; And that, in action, there is nothing new, More, than to vary what our elders knew: Which all, but ignorant captains, will confess: Nor to give Caesar this, makes ours the less. Yet thou, perhaps, shall meet some tongues will grutch, That to the world thou should'st reveal so much, And thence, deprave thee, and thy work. To those Caesar stands up, as from his urn late rose, By thy great help: and doth proclaim by me, They murder him again, that envy thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONNET by RICHARD WATSON GILDER THE PROGRESS OF POESY; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY SONNET: 66 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO THE EARL OF WARWICK ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON by THOMAS TICKELL THE SMALL CELANDINE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE WAY OF SACRIFICE by MATTHEW ARNOLD SELF-COMMUNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 48. FAREWELL TO JULIET (10) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |