A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
To the Honourable Sir JOHN DENHAM, upon his New Version of the Psalms.
I
Twas but of late, that in our Northern Clime,Verse, which had many Ages been a Slave,
Regain'd its freedom, and tho bound to Rime,
The Tyrans, which had humbled it, did Brave.
II
Fetter'd before in gross Impertinence,And by strange Monsters forc'd, it Pris'ner lay;
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And all the Cheats, which Ignorance betray.
III
To make Vile Anagrams, was its best Art,And lewdly then to descant on the Text;
Whose Gloss was evermore the dullest part,
And all the Wit to seem, and be perplext.
IV
Then motly Metaphors at length stole in,And that the Poet might his Treasures boast;
Rubies and Pearls were in each couplet seen,
And a poor Sonnet would an Empire cost.
V
But still the Sun to th' hardest Task was prest,And wearied with his Journey all Day long,
I'th' Sea at Night enjoy'd but confus'd rest,
For less the World could want him than a Song.
VI
These were the Vices captive Verse obey'd,With thousand worse, to which it did submit;
Till you the Enemies weakness open laid,
And to its ancient Grandure ransom'd it.
VII
'Twas you, great Sir, who like the Redcross Knight,To save the Damsel Poesy, arose;
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And made her Reign a Queen, amidst her Foes.
VIII
Wit from your Pen, was quite another thing,Than what the Ignorant imagin'd it;
And in your manner skilfully to Sing,
More than to make rich Rimes, and Noises hit.
IX
Twas Manly, Grave, and full of sprit'ely Fire,The same that it was sixteen Centuries past;
Able the very Reader to inspire,
And whose fixt Monument shall ever last.
X
But sacred Poesy lay all this whileScorn'd, or Neglected, as it was before;
As if it were no Sacriledg to spoil,
But what from God was once Robb'd, to restore.
XI
Any thing for the Temple would suffice,No matter how ill drest the Service were;
To th' Institution it did nearer rise,
More like th' unpolisht Altar, and Goats Hair.
XII
Waiting your help it lay, who to redeemThe Credit, which it long unjustly lost;
Have rais'd it to a more enlarg'd esteem,
Lov'd of the best, and Courted by the most.
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XIII
From you the Jewish Psalmist has receiv'dThe latest Glory, which he could expect;
And all, who at his barbarous Sufferings griev'd,
With Pleasure on them thus expir'd reflect.
XIV
You were that Worthy, for whom all did look,To' attempt, and execute this bold Design;
Nor was there other Way, than what you took,
By Humane Poesy, to restore Divine.
XV
For as ith' Revolutions of Great States,Civility Religion did produce;
The Muses Kingdoms too have born like Fates,
By' you first made Civil, then Religious.
L'Envoy.
Full often, Song, I've griev'd, thou staydst at Home,Nor kiss'dst those Hands for which thou wert design'd;
Sure hadst Thou ever to His Presence come,
The known He 'had lov'd, who to th' unknown was kind
1668.
| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |