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108
Resolved never to Versifie more.
Fear not, my Friends, you ever more shall see
The folly of a Verse from me;
For howsoe'er my inclinations drive,
Yet in this Town they will not thrive;
At best but blasted, wither'd Rhimes they are,
Such as appear in Smithfield once a year.
The folly of a Verse from me;
For howsoe'er my inclinations drive,
Yet in this Town they will not thrive;
At best but blasted, wither'd Rhimes they are,
Such as appear in Smithfield once a year.
For,
No more than Beauty, without Wealth, can move
A Gallants heart to strokes of Love;
Than fair perswasions, without stripes, reduce
The Birds of Bridewell, or of Stews;
Than Gypsies without Money can foreshow,
No more can Verse in London grow.
No more than Beauty, without Wealth, can move
A Gallants heart to strokes of Love;
Than fair perswasions, without stripes, reduce
The Birds of Bridewell, or of Stews;
Than Gypsies without Money can foreshow,
No more can Verse in London grow.
For,
Verse is th' tender'st Plant i'th' Field of Wit,
No Storm must ever blow o'er it;
A very Noli-me-tangere it is,
It shrivels with the touch of business;
But, Heliotropian like, it seeks the gleams
Of Quietudes reviving Beams.
How shou'd it then endure this irksome shade,
Which is by noise of Plots and Bus'ness made?
Verse is th' tender'st Plant i'th' Field of Wit,
No Storm must ever blow o'er it;
109
It shrivels with the touch of business;
But, Heliotropian like, it seeks the gleams
Of Quietudes reviving Beams.
How shou'd it then endure this irksome shade,
Which is by noise of Plots and Bus'ness made?
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