The Second part of The Nights Search Discovering The Condition of the various Fowles of Night. Or, The second great Mystery of Iniquity exactly revealed: With the Projects of these Times. In a Poem, By Humphrey Mill |
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To his worthy friend Mr. Mill, upon his excellent Poem of the Night-Birds.
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 | The Second part of The Nights Search |  |
To his worthy friend Mr. Mill, upon his excellent Poem of the Night-Birds.
Pale Envie's at a stand, let Momus bark
His lungs into a palsie; here's a mark,
Though Pride and Folly shoot, they cannot hit;
Or charg'd with choler, or discharg'd of wit.
His lungs into a palsie; here's a mark,
Though Pride and Folly shoot, they cannot hit;
Or charg'd with choler, or discharg'd of wit.
These lines are rich and loftie, smooth and even,
To fit the noblest subject under Heaven:
But thou hast chus'd the blackest, which might be
Set as a foyle to thy brave Poetrie.
So full of usefull wit, the Birds of night,
Found, caught, unroosted, darknesse brought to light:
Shames Ensignes took, vice conquer'd, which no man
Did more than challenge since the world began.
To fit the noblest subject under Heaven:
But thou hast chus'd the blackest, which might be
Set as a foyle to thy brave Poetrie.
So full of usefull wit, the Birds of night,
Found, caught, unroosted, darknesse brought to light:
Shames Ensignes took, vice conquer'd, which no man
Did more than challenge since the world began.
Where are those cancel'd wits, that rack'd their verse
To varnish guilt, and thatch a rotten herse?
Praise Madams curlings? they thy scourge may feele,
And like the Serpent, nibble at the heele;
But cannot wound: like Basilisks, whose eyes
Dart feeble poyson. Malice cannot rise
To vent her venome, as to blast a line
Drawne by thy pen, thy name, or ought of thine.
To varnish guilt, and thatch a rotten herse?
Praise Madams curlings? they thy scourge may feele,
And like the Serpent, nibble at the heele;
But cannot wound: like Basilisks, whose eyes
Dart feeble poyson. Malice cannot rise
To vent her venome, as to blast a line
Drawne by thy pen, thy name, or ought of thine.
What needs this troop of worthies offer Bayes
To crowne thy fame, who art above their praise?
Which perish not with age, nor canc'ring rust,
Compo'd with furie, and the spitefull dust.
Till time gives up the ghost, this work shall be
Prais'd, pleasing, honour'd, to posteritie.
To crowne thy fame, who art above their praise?
Which perish not with age, nor canc'ring rust,
Compo'd with furie, and the spitefull dust.
Till time gives up the ghost, this work shall be
Prais'd, pleasing, honour'd, to posteritie.
Hon. Limbruke Mr. of Arts Cam.
| The Second part of The Nights Search | |