Iter boreale With large additions of several other poems: being an exact collection of all hitherto extant. Never before published together. The author R. Wild |
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 | Iter boreale |  |
I.
The day is broke! Melpomene, be gone;Hag of my Fancy, let me now alone:
Night-mare my Soul no more; Go take thy flight
Where Traitors Ghosts keep an eternal night;
Flee to Mount Caucasus, and bear thy part
With the black fowl that tears Prometheus heart
For his bold Sacriledg: Go fetch the groans
Of defunct Tyrants, with them croke thy Tones;
6
How she sinks Nol, and makes old Bradshaw skip:
Go make thy self away,—Thou shalt no more
Choak up my Standish with the blood and gore
Of English Tragedies: I now will chuse
The merriest of the nine to be my Muse:
And come what will, I'le scribble once again:
The brutish Sword hath cut the nobler Vein
Of racy Poetry. Our small-drink-times
Must be contented, and take up with Rhimes.
They'r sorry toyes from a poor Levites pack,
Whose Living and Assesments drink no Sack.
The Subject will excuse the Verse (I trow)
The Ven'son's fat, although the crust be dough.
| Iter boreale | |