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The poems of George Daniel

... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes

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An Epode.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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54

An Epode.

Farre, from the Cittie's Strife; as far from fame,
I wish to keepe my name:
Careles of popular vote, or vaine Applause,
To mine, though for Iust Cause;
Let the bright Inke, which Phebus doth distill
Through everie Noble Qvill,
Run in a Clearer path; had I bene borne
Below my fate; the Scorne
Of other men; and had noe more extract
Then what my selfe could Act;
Yet in this obscure fortune, had I ben
Capable of a Pen;
I would have Squared a way, for my owne verse,
As void of vulgar fears,
As overborn by Selfe opinion;
I would have made my owne
Iudgment, an Equall Arbiter, to Define
The worth of everie Line;
And let ffastidious Censures of the Times
Gvild loose and borrowed Rhimes;
Such, who or want or what they have, betray
To the most Sordid way
Of Ignorance. Such as affect the vote
Of Stentor-follie's Throte,
Or ravil out the Loome of all their witt,
To play Court-Parasit'.

55

These waies I hate and Scorne; if what I penn'd
ffell to soe base an End,
My gviltye Qvill would splitt, my Inke would rise
Into my face and Eyes.
Iudge, Great Apollo! if I have done ought
With a presumptuous Thought,
That any name could make my numbers flye
Beyond their Poesie.
To noe Collossus could I ever bend,
Or at the Court attend,
With my owne Sin and ffollie in a Sheet;
To prostrate at the feet
Of painted greatnes. Not a Lord, one drop
Of my Iust Inke, shall hope
Beyond his merit: I dare not abase
Soe much, my free-borne Muse;
But vtter Truth. It is not in their ffate
To raise, nor Terminate,
A true Composure. Wee admire the Good,
Without Alloy of Blood;
And Iustly praise them, beyond all the Date
Of Brass or marble State.
We adde to them, if Either, and doe give
Their Vertues breath, to live,
In Mention; and the honour of one Name
Shall nere be old with ffame.
But 'tis Enough; I hate a Servitude
Either to Might, or to the Multitude.