 | Carolina |  |
It must be so, now thirst of Fame's away,
Quencht with large Draughts, and th' Vine out-grows the Bay.
Whilst Farces and such Vices of the Stage,
Corrupt the Poetry of this loose Age.
No Heroe, no Mecænas in these times,
For Subject, or incouragement of Rhymes.
Dryden alone, has got some Title now
To th' Lawrel wreaths, that grace his lucky Brow.
Tho neither Deity nor Muse inspires,
Her breath alone fann'd his Poetick fires.
Th' old custom is to his advantage broke;
For here he made those words the Goddess spoke.
Blest by her Mouth, they may obtain the fate
Of Oracles, and gain as long a date.
Thus his rude Oare cast in that precious Mould,
Lost all its Dross, and turn'd refined Gold.
She did create its worth, and made the Play;
And breath'd the breath of Life into his Clay.
Quencht with large Draughts, and th' Vine out-grows the Bay.
Whilst Farces and such Vices of the Stage,
Corrupt the Poetry of this loose Age.
No Heroe, no Mecænas in these times,
For Subject, or incouragement of Rhymes.
Dryden alone, has got some Title now
To th' Lawrel wreaths, that grace his lucky Brow.
Tho neither Deity nor Muse inspires,
Her breath alone fann'd his Poetick fires.
Th' old custom is to his advantage broke;
For here he made those words the Goddess spoke.
Blest by her Mouth, they may obtain the fate
Of Oracles, and gain as long a date.
Thus his rude Oare cast in that precious Mould,
Lost all its Dross, and turn'd refined Gold.
194
And breath'd the breath of Life into his Clay.
| Carolina | |