University of Virginia Library


33

To his Displeased Pater in Phœbo, Mr. F. M.

You're not in earnest, sure: and thus
'Tis but Furor Poeticus.
Your Anger's Faign'd, though't seem so Great,
You're Incens'd by Poetick Heat.
Why man! I spoke but like a Poet:
I said 'twas bad; I wo'nt stand to it.
Come, let's be Friends: and doe not move
Phœbus again to Quarrell with Love.
How much I'm Griev'd, Good Sir, pray think:
My Muse for Mourning wears this Ink.