University of Virginia Library

A Fit of Rime against Rime.

Rime the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits,
True Conceipt
Spoyling Senses of their Treasure,
Cosening Judgement with a measure,
But false weight.
Wresting words, from their true calling;
Propping Verse, for feare of falling
To the ground.
Joynting Syllabes, drowning Letters,
Fastning Vowells, as with fetters
They were bound!
Soone as lazie thou wert knowne,
All good Poëtrie hence was flowne,
And are banish'd.
For a thousand yeares together,
All Pernassus Greene did wither,
And wit vanish'd.
Pegasus did flie away,
At the Wells no Muse did stay,
But bewail'd.
So to see the Fountaine drie,
And Apollo's Musique die,
All light failed!
Starveling rimes did fill the Stage,
Not a Poët in an Age,
Worth crowning.
Not a worke deserving Baies,
Nor a lyne deserving praise,
Pallas frowning;
Greeke was free from Rimes infection,
Happy Greeke by this protection!
Was not spoyled.
Whilst the Latin, Queene of Tongues,
Is not yet free from Rimes wrongs,
But rests foiled.
Scarce the hill againe doth flourish,
Scarce the world a Wit doth nourish,
To restore,
Phœbus to his Crowne againe;
And the Muses to their braine;
As before.
Vulgar Languages that want
Words, and sweetnesse, and be scant
Of true measure,
Tyran Rime hath so abused,
That they long since have refused,
Other ceasure;
He that first invented thee,
May his joynts tormented bee,
Cramp'd forever;
Still may Syllabes jarre with time,
Stil may reason warre with rime,
Resting never.
May his Sense when it would meet,
The cold tumor in his feet,
Grow unsounder.
And his Title be long foole,
That in rearing such a Schoole,
Was the founder.