Hymn LX. For a Poet.
[_]
Poets are prophets; not only in the vulgar acception,
among humane Authors, but so called also
by Saint Paul, Tit. 1. 12. By this Hymn therefore,
such Poets as are not past grace, may be
remembred to exercise their facultie to that end, for
which it was given unto them, by God.
[1]
By
Art, a Poet is not made.
For (though by Art, some better'd be)
Immediatlie his gift he had
From thee, oh God! from none but thee.
And fitted in the wombe he was,
To be (by what thou didst inspire)
In extraordinarie place,
A Chaplain of this Lower-Quire.
Most Poets future things declare;
And Prophets (true or false) they are.
2
They who with meeknes, entertain
And, with an humble Soul, admit
Those Raptures, which thy grace doth daign,
Become, for thy true service fit.
And, though the scapes which we condemn,
In these may otherwhile be found;
Thy Secrets thou revealest by them,
And mak'st their tongues thy praise to sound.
Such Moses was; such David prov'd;
Men famous, holy, and belov'd.
3
And, such (though lower in degree)
Are some, who live among us yet;
And, they with truth inspired be,
By musing on thy holy-Writ.
In Ordinarie, some of those,
Vpon thy service do attend;
Divulging forth in holy-Prose,
The Messages which thou do'st send:
And some of these, thy Truths display;
Not in an ordinarie way.
4
But where this Gift puffs up with pride,
The Devill enters in thereby;
And through the same, doth means provide,
To raise his own Inventions high.
Blasphemous-Fancies are infus'd;
All holy new-things are expel'd.
He that hath most prophanelie muz'd,
Is fam'd, as having most excel'd;
And those are Priests and Prophets made
To him, from whom their Strains they had.
5
Such were those Poets, who of old,
To heathen
Gods, their Hymns did frame;
Or have blasphemous-Fables told,
To Truths abuse, and Virtues blame.
Such are these Poets, in these daies,
Who vent the fumes of Lust and Wine:
Then, crown each others heads, with Bayes;
As if their Poems, were divine.
And, such, (though they some Truths foresee)
False-hearted, and false prophets be.
6
Therefore, since I reputed am
Among these few, on whom the times,
Imposed have, a Poets name;
Lord! give me grace to shun their crimes:
My precious gift, let me employ
Not (as imprudent Poets use)
That Grace, and Vertue, to destroy,
Which I should strengthen, by my Muse:
But help to free them of the wrongs,
Sustain'd by Drunkards Rymes, and Songs.
7
Yea, whilst thou shalt prolong my dayes,
Lord, all the musings of my heart,
To be advancements of thy praise,
And, to the publique-weal, convert:
That, when to dust I must return,
It may not justly be my thought,
That, to a blessing, I was born,
Which by abuse, a Curse hath brought.
But, let my, conscience, truly say,
My Soul in peace departs away.