ODE XLIX.
[I am not limited to a precise]
1
I am not limited to a precise
Number, in what I write;
Nor curbe my owne delight
Of Freedome, to be thought more formall wife.
Nor doe I meerlie Strive
To change; but take the next
Which falls to Sence. The Live
Formes of an honest text
Seekes little to Illustrate its intent,
And wrests in Nothing from the Argument.
2
Though in these Scattered Fancies I can boast
Noe proper Treatise; for
I catch at everie hower,
And onlie glance at things; I am not lost
To Studies of more weight;
But Shadow out, by these,
What I would chuse to write,
Were I secure in Ease.
And often touch the String I would Applye,
Would Time allow, to its full Harmonye.
3
I cannot Subiect my Designe to Rhime;
That is, I cannot fall
Meerlie to Rhime, and all
My notions hang to any certaine Chime;
But to the nearest Sence
I take a Number fitt,
And hardlie, for pretence
Of finer, loose my witt;
For who that has his Passions subdued,
Can bind his Reason to that Servitude?
4
Man (Lord of Langvage, great Distingvisher
Of Forme, to what is fitt)
Looseth, if he submitt
To Custome, his Prerogative; may cleare
All Scruple, and dispose
Of them, by Edict, to
What ever heele propose.
They loose their title, who
Necessite a Forme, or dwell in words;
Soe are they vassalls made, who were borne Lords.
5
Some (who pretend to witt), (Some, I have knowne)
Imagine all the height
Of witt in the Conceipt
Of formall Trifles; these are often Showne
To common Eyes; who, for
It pussles them, admire,
And get a Copie; more
To sooth, then to Desire
Anything tasting witt. These frequent are,
In this witt-venting Age, where none want Share.
6
How some racke all their Faculties, and Squeese
The Iuice of all their Braine!
In a fastidious Straine
Of words, to pussle men; and can but please
Them selves, with a thin Ayre.
What trifle can wee name,
Soe barren, or soe bare?
Be it an Anagram,
To stifle all the Life of common witt;
But busies some Men to be proud in it?
7
Of these, not three I ever saw has hit
Within the roade of Sence.
Nay give 'em their pretence,
The Latitude they aske. How below witt
They Stand, I dare not Say;
Lest I be challengéd
Vncapable, that way.
For I am soe indeed;
And 'tis a Qvalitie I not admitt
Within the Region of a noble witt.
