 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
To my learned friend Mr. Thomas Bancroft upon his Book of Satyres.
After a many works of divers kindes,Your Muse to tread th'Aruncan path designes;
'Tis hard to write but Satyres in these dayes,
And yet to write good Satyres merits praise:
And such are yours, and such they will be found
By all clear Hearts, or penitent by their wound.
May you but understanding Readers meet,
And they will find your march on stedfast feet.
Although your honest hand seems not to stick
To search this Nations Ulcers to the quick,
Yet your Intent (with your Invective Strain)
Is but to lance, and then to cure again,
When all the putrid matter is drawn forth
That poisons precious Souls, & clouds their worth.
So old Petronius Arbiter appli'd
Corsives unto the age he did deride:
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Those ancient Romans) scourg'd the impious throng:
So Ariosto (in these later times)
Reprov'd his Italy for many crimes:
So learned Barclay let his Lashes fall
Heavy on some, to bring a cure to all.
So lately Withers (whom your Muse doth far
Transcend) did strike at things Irregular.
(But all in one t'include) So our prime wit
(In the too few short Satyres he hath writ)
Renowned Don hath so rebuk'd his times,
That he hath jear'd vice-lovers from their crimes.
Attended by your Satyres, mounted on
Your Muses Pegasus (my friend) be gone,
(As er'st the Lictors of the Romans went
With Rods and Axes (for the Punishment
Of Ill) born with them) that all vice may fly
(That dares not stand the Cure) when you draw nigh.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |