 | Divine Poems |  |
On the Divine Poems of his friend the Author.
Some say a Poet's born, not made; but ISay he's twice born that made this Poesie.
Nature imparted little to his wit,
'Twas grace which had the greatest band in it;
His pen came from the wing of th'holy Dove,
Dropping no gall, but innocence and Love;
No scurrilous obscenity to make
It vendible, and with the Rabble take;
No tenter stretch't conceits, no puff-paste strains,
Which serve not to instruct but wrack mens brains,
No such as their invention draw from wine
And reele into a Verse; but all Divine,
Clear as the beams are of th'inlightned day,
Smooth as the Galaxy or milkie way,
Pure as Ezekiels waters, which did glide
Forth of the Sanctuary on each side;
Made not to please the Pallat of the foule
And carnal man, but to revive the soul
That humbled is at sight and sense of sin,
To cheere his spirits, comfort him within;
To scare bold sinners from their wicked course,
And win them to a penitent remorse;
That they who take these Poems up as men,
May lay them down as Saints made by his pen.
Thus Ambrose catch't an Austin, by his quaint
Divinity, the Manichee turn'd Saint.
E. P.
| Divine Poems | |