University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
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

collapse sectionI. 
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The many Scurrile Pamphlets (going vnder the name of Poems,) frequently printed; occasion'd this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
collapse sectionII. 
collapse section 
  
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
  
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
collapse sectionIII, IV. 
collapse section 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
collapse section 
  
 1. 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
 5. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

The many Scurrile Pamphlets (going vnder the name of Poems,) frequently printed; occasion'd this.

Shall I be Silent? cause I am not heard
In the full Croud? noe; let the Pile I rear'd,
Tumble vpon my head, ere stand to be
An obiect of their Praise or fflatterie.
I must Confes, a Novice in the world,
I Courted her Applause, & my verse hurl'd
Into her Lappe; and my Ambition
Was, not to be a Poet, but soe knowne;

88

And have my Name made ffamous: this, I sought,
And gain'd. But ah, I wish all this were nought:
I now retract my follyes, and Contemne
The vulgar in their Noise. I would not seeme
To be at all from them; nor did I seeke
Opinion meerely, when I was most weake;
But to the Modest flights of a yonge Muse
Encouragement; not Praise, but an Excuse.
And this I did, not to the vulgar Crue,
But to the Serious head and Sober Brow.
Drawne out by whom, I ventur'd on the Stage
Of Censure, with my Poems to the Age;
And found Enough of Candor, to the Ayme
Of what I hoped. Thus entred into ffame,
I trode a larger Step, and ventur'd on
A higher Pitch, where noe opinion
Was lost to my Endeavours; therefore, may
This vindicate my Spleene. I doe not say
I hate the world, or I contemne her praise,
Because I wanted any: many waies
I had beyond my Merit, and Suspect
My owne, for her applause; to see how deckt
In her Encomions ffollie doth appeare,
And Ignorance, it Selfe, is famous here.
This when I see, I must Confesse I rise
With Indignation, and her vote despise;
Torture my Selfe, a Poet, in the Name:
And count my ornament my greife, my Shame.

89

To looke vpon the Age, and see what things
Come vailed, vnder the adulterate wings
Of Poesie. Oh; I could splitt my Qvill,
Forget my Manhood, if it were not Ill;
To see that pure fflame fall, a prostitute;
And Coiture of Ruffians, cause her ffruite;
When to the Twang of meeter, Poesie
Shall fall to Sordid Groomes; and Infamie
Attends the Name; oh, let vs teare, the bright
Lawrel of Phebus, in a iust-raisd Spight.
Dull Age of Ignorance! and shall I steere
My vessel to thy Compasse? noe; I here
Loudlie profes it to the world, I Claime
The honour of a Poet, and the Name,
With all the Title Modestie can vrge.
I am a Poet; and I bring as large
A Stocke as may suffice to keep witt in
Her native Colours. What I loose or win
To bloat opinion, that below my fate
I ever value: come it soone, or late.