Rogero-Mastir | ||
Them therefore leaving, I return again,
To view Will. Rogers his Poetick strain;
Who having been too often foil'd in Prose,
To try his Fortain, now in Verse hath chose;
If Verse, without Offence, that may be call'd,
Which is delivered in Rhimes so bald,
So flat, so dull, so rough, so void of Grace,
Where Symphony and Cadence have no place;
So full of Chasmes, stuck with Prosie Pegs,
Whereon his Tired Muse might rest her Legs,
(Not having Wings) and take new breath, that then
She might, with much a-doe, hop on agen.
His [ Words to that effect,— Why so?— How so?
Hence I observe,— Hence I conclude—] do show,
His Pursy Muse was often out of Wind,
And glad when she a perching place could find.
To view Will. Rogers his Poetick strain;
Who having been too often foil'd in Prose,
To try his Fortain, now in Verse hath chose;
If Verse, without Offence, that may be call'd,
Which is delivered in Rhimes so bald,
So flat, so dull, so rough, so void of Grace,
Where Symphony and Cadence have no place;
So full of Chasmes, stuck with Prosie Pegs,
Whereon his Tired Muse might rest her Legs,
8
She might, with much a-doe, hop on agen.
His [ Words to that effect,— Why so?— How so?
Hence I observe,— Hence I conclude—] do show,
His Pursy Muse was often out of Wind,
And glad when she a perching place could find.
Rogero-Mastir | ||