And better stays them there than all fine noise
Of verse, mere matterlefs, and tinkling toys.

The mufe not only gave the Greeks a wit,
But a well-compafs'd mouth to utter it.
Being men were covetous of nought, but praise :
Our Roman youths they learn the fubtil ways
How to divide into a hundred parts

A pound, or piece, by their long compting arts:
There's Albin's fon will fay, fubftract an ounce
From the five ounces, what remains? pronounce
A third of twelve, you may; four ounces, Glad,
He cries, good boy, thou'lt keep thine own. Now
add
[juft,

An ounce, what makes it then? the half pound
Six ounces. O, when once the canker'd ruft,
And care of getting, thus our minds hath stain’d;
Think we, or hope there can be verfes feign'd
In juice of cedar, worthy to be fleep'd,
And in smooth cyprefs boxes to be keep'd?
Poets would either profit or delight;
Or mixing sweet and fit, teach life the right.
Orpheus, a priest, and speaker of the gods,
First frighted men, and wildly liv'd at odds,
From flaughters, and foul life; and for the fame
Was tigers faid, and lions fierce to tame.
Amphion too, that built the Theban towers,
Was faid to move the ftones by his lute's powers,
And lead them with foft fongs, where that he
would.

This was the wisdom that they had of old,
Things facred from profane to separate;
The public from the private, to abate
Wild raging lufts; prefcribe the marriage good;
Build towns, and carve the laws in leaves of wood.
And thus at first, an honour, and a name
To divine poets, and their verfes came.
Next thefe, great Homer and Tyrtæus fet
On edge the masculine spirits, and did whet

Their minds to wars, and rhymes they did rehearse;

The oracles too were given out in verse;

All way of life was shown; the grace of kings
Attempted by the mufes tunes and strings;
Plays were found out, and rest, the end and crown
Of their long labours, was in verse set down:
All which I tell, left when Apollo's nam'd,
Or mufe, upon the lyre, thou chance b' afham'd.
Be brief in what thou wouldst command, that fo
The docile mind might foon thy precepts know,
And hold them faithfully; for nothing refts,
But flows out, that o'erfwelleth, in full breasts.

Let what thou feign'ft for pleasure's fake, be near
The truth; nor let thy fable think whate'er
It would must be left it alive would draw
The child, when Lania has din'd, out of her maw.
The poems void of profit, our grave men
Caft out by voices; want they pleasure, then
Our gallants give them none, but pass them by;
But he hath every fuffrage, can apply
Sweet mixt with four to his reader, fo
As doctrine and delight together go.
This book will get the Sofii money; this
Will pafs the feas, and long as nature is,
With honour make the far-known author live.
There are yet faults, which we would well for-
giye

For neither doth the string ftill yield that found
The hand and mind would, but it will refound
Oft-times a sharp, when we require a flat :
Nor always doth the loofed bow hit that
Which it doth threaten. Therefore, where I fee
Much in the poem fhine, I will not be
Offended with few fpots, which negligence
Hath fhed, or human frailty not kept thence,
How then? why as a fcrivener, if h' offend
Still in the fame, and warned will not mend,
Deferves no pardon; or who'd play, and fing
Is laugh'd at, that still jarreth on one string:
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me
A Cherilus, in whom if I but fee

Twice or thrice good, I wonder; but am more
Angry. Sometimes I hear good Homer fnore;
But I confefs, that in a long work, fleep
May, with fome right, upon an author creep.

As painting, fo is poefy. Some man's hand
Will take you more, the nearer that you fland;
As fome the farther off: this loves the dark;
This fearing not the fubtileft judge's mark,
Will in the light be view'd: this once the fight
Doth pleafe, this ten times over will delight.

You, Sir, the elder brother, though you are
Informed rightly, by your father's care,
And of yourself too understand; yet mind
This faying to fome things there is affign'd
A mean, and toleration, which does well:
There may a lawyer be, may not excel,
Or pleader at the bar, that may come short
Of cloquent Meffala's power in court,
Or knows not what Cacellius Aulus can;
Yet there's a value given to this man.
But neither men, nor gods, nor pillars meant,
Poets should ever be indifferent.

As jarring mufic doth at jolly feafts,
Or thick grofs ointment but offend the guests!
As poppy, and Sardan honey; 'caufe without
Thefe, the free meal might have been well drawn

Yet who's most ignorant, dares verfes make.
Why not? I'm gentle, and free born, do hate
Vice, and am known to have a knight's estate.
Thou, fuch thy judgment is, thy knowledge too,
Wilt nothing against nature speak or do;
But if hereafter thou shalt write, not fear
To fend it to be judg'd by Metius' car,
And to your father's, and to mine, though't be
Nine years kept in, your papers by, you're free
To change and mend, what you not forth do fet.
The writ, once out, never returned yet.

'Tis now inquir'd which makes the nobler verfe, Nature, or Art. My judgment will not pierce | Into the profits, what a mere rude brain Çan; nor all toil, without a wealthy veia ;

So doth the one the other's help require,
And friendly should unto one end confpire.

He that's ambitious in the race to touch
The wished goal, both did, and suffer'd much
While he was young; he sweat, and freez'd again,
And both from wine and women did abstain.
Who fince to fing the Pythian rites is heard,
Did learn them first, and once a master fear'd.
But now it is enough to fay, I make
An admirable verfe. The great fcurf take
Him that is laft, I fcorn to come behind,
Or of the things that ne'er came in my mind
To fay, I'm ignorant. Juft as a crier
That to the fale of wares calls every buyer;
So doth the poet, who is rich in land,
Or great in moneys out at ufe, command
His flatterers to their gain. But say, he can
Make a great fupper, or for fome poor man
Will be a furety, or can help him out
Of an entangling fuit, and bring't about:
I wonder how this happy man fhould know,
Whether his foothing friend fpeak truth or no.
But you, my Pifo, carefully beware
(Whether you're given to, or giver are)
You do not bring to judge your verses, one,
With joy of what is given him, over-gone:
For he'll cry, Good, brave, better, excellent!
Look pale, diftil a fhower (was never meant)
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the groun',
As those that hir'd to weep at funerals fwoon,
Cry, and do more to the true mourners: fo
The fcoffer the true praiser doth outgo.

Rich men are faid with many cups to ply, And rack with wine the man whom they would try,

If of their friendship he be worthy or no :
When you write verfes, with your judge do so :
Look through him, and be fure you take not
mocks

[naught.

For praises, where the mind conceals a fox.
If to Quintilius you recited aught,
He'd fay, Mend this, good friend, and this; 'tis
If you denied you had no better strain,
And twice or thrice had 'flay'd it, still in vain :
He'd bid blot all, and to the anvil bring
Thofe ill-turn'd verses to new hammering.
Then if your fault you rather had defend [fpend
Than change; no word or work more would he
In vain, but you and yours you should love fill
Alone, without a rival, by his will.

A wife and honeft man will cry out hame
On artless verfe; the hard ones he will blame,
Blot out the careless with his turned pen;
Cut off fuperfluous ornaments, and when [wrote
They're dark, bid clear this: all that's doubtful
Reprove, and what is to be changed note;
Become an Ariftarchus. And not fay
Why should I grieve my friend this trifling way?
These trifles into ferious mifchiefs lead
The man once mock'd, and suffer'd wrong
tread.

Wife fober folk a frantic poet fear;
And fhun to touch him, as a man that were
Infected with the leprofy, or had

he yellow jaundice, or were furious mad,
According to the moon. But then the boys
They vex, and follow him with shouts and noise,
The while he belcheth lofty verses out,
And ftalketh, like a fowler, round about,
Bufy to catch a blackbird, if he fall
Into a pit or hole; although he call
And cry aloud, Help, gentle countrymen!
'There's none will take the care to help him then;
For if one should, and with a rope make hafte
To let it down, who knows if he did caft
Himfelf there purposely or no, and would
Not thence be fav'd, alth ugh indeed he could?
I'll tell you but the death and the disease
Of the Sicilian poet Empedocles:
He, while he labour'd to be thought a god
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd
Conceit, and into burning Ætna leapt.
Let poets perish, that will not be kept.
He that preferves a man against his will,
Doth the fame thing with him that would his
kill.

Nor did he do this once; for if you can
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man,
Or love of this fo famous death lay by.

His cause of making verfes none knows why,
Whether he pifs'd upon his father's grave,
Or the fad thunder-ftroken thing he have
Defiled, touch'd; but certain he was mad,
And as a bear, if he the strength but had
To force the grates that hold him in, would fright
All: fo this grievous writer puts to flight [takes,
Learn'd and unlearn'd, holding whom once he
And there an end of him reciting makes;
Not letting go his hold, where he draws food,
Till he drop off, a horfe-leech, full of blood,

To my faithful Servant, and, by his continued virtue, my,
loving Friend, the Author of this Work, (the Nor-
thern Lafs, a Comedy), Mr Richard Broome.
I HAD you for a fervant once, Dick Broome,
And you perform'd a fervant's faithful parts:
Now you are got into a nearer room

Of fellowship, profeffing my old arts.
And you do do them well, with good applause,
Which you have justly gained from the stage,
By obfervation of thofe comic laws,

Which I your mafter firft did teach the age. You learn'd it well, and for it ferv'd your time, A 'prenticeship, which few do now-a-days: Now each court hobby-horfe will wince in rhyme,

Both learned and unlearned, all write plays.
It was not fo of old: men took up trades [right;
That knew the craft they had been bred in
An honeft bilboe-fmith would make good blades,
And the physician teach men fpue and sh-
The cobler kept him to his awl; but now
He'll be a poet, fcarce can guide a plow.
The juft Indignation the Author took at the vulgar Cen-
fure of bis Play (New Inn), by fome malicious Spec-
tators, begat the following Ode to bimfelf.

COME leave the lothed ftage,
And the more lothfome age;
Where pride and impudence, (in fashion knit,)
Ufurp the chair of wit!

Inditing and arraigning every day,
Something they call a play.
Let their faftidious, vain
Commiffion of the brain

Run on, and rage, fweat, cenfure, and condemn :
They were not made for thee, lefs thou for them.

Say that thou pour'ft them wheat,
And they will acorns eat;

'Twere fimple fury ftill thyfelf to waste
On fuch as have no taste!

To offer them a furfeit of pure bread,
Whofe appetites are dead!
No, give them grains their fill,
Hulks, draff to drink and fwill.

If they love lees, and leave the lufty wine,
Envy them not their palates with the fwine.
No doubt fome moldy tale,

Like Pericles, and stale

But when they hear thee fing
The glories of thy king,

His zeal to God, and his jutt awe o'er men :
They may, blood-fhaken then,
Feel fuch a Refl-quake to poffefs their powers;
As they shall cry, like ours,

In found of peace or wars,
No harp e'er hit the stars,

In tuning forth the acts of his fweet reign:
And railing Charles his chariot 'bove his waine,

An Aufwer to the Ode," Came leave the Lothed Stage."
By Qwen Feltbam *.

COME, leave this faucy way

Of baiting those that pay

Author of a popular Book, called," The Refolves,"

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