Upon the Authour and his Poems.
Not
that I do, (as Vulgar Scriblers can)
Dictate a squint, or to set forth the Man
To th'best, (as Common Painters use to do,)
Strive to make handsom, though they do not true,
No; General Applause doth plainly shew it,
No Age, e're glory'd in so quaint a Poet:
For whom, the Muses, and the Graces strove,
Which should deserve him best, to be their Love:
At length they drew the match, (yet left it fair:)
And each compounded in him, for a share:
So that He's wholly theirs; (and let him be!)
Nor do I envy them their Destiny;
But, this I'le tell the World, their choice is such;
All, may admire, but cannot praise too much.
Here, Jupiter his Mistresses may kiss,
And win without a Metamorphosis.
Cupid, the sole Commander of our Hearts,
Complies with thee, to make his golden Darts:
But let him try his skill, how 'ere it prove,
That he wounds Hearts, 'tis thou must make them love.
J. Moyle of the Inner Temple Esq;
