University of Virginia Library



On the sacred Poems of my Ingenious Friend, Mr. E. E.

Let those who earthly Subjects dote upon,
Go scoure their dirty Brains in Helicon.
Our Poet's Head's his Fountain, Wit the Streams,
Pour'd through the Conduits of his holy Theams,
So, gliding through the Channel of each line,
Cleanseth the ground which was before divine.
'Tis in this Holy Place the Nine do meet,
And wash the ground that it may wash their feet.
Fancy and Phrase contend, each sublimate:
Wit, and Divinity concorporate.
Ile say no more; 'tis labour spent amiss,
To praise the Book, when I have said 'tis his.
R. S. Esq.