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To Mr. H. S. in answer of his ingenious Poem.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

To Mr. H. S. in answer of his ingenious Poem.

Not much unlike that Captive which we see
Fetter'd with favours, chain'd with charity:
Do I appear, your candid contribution
(Mysteriously) designs my deminution:
Your love doth over-lay me, I shall die,
(If you persist) not knowing how or why:


Your Poems make me lose my apprehension,
And soar above the sence of my ascention:
But why (dear Stonestreet) do you thus confine
In your own Cabinet the noble Nine?
What have the Virgins done, that they must be
Compress'd with such divine captivity?
You are more strict then Statesmen, they that sit
At Westminster will not sequester wit:
But I repent this rudeness, and think rather
You do secure them like a Foster-father:
From ignorant pretenders, or from those
That wrong the Laws of God and man in Proes:
That (nameless) number, which more evil do,
Then man can think, or hell can look into:
You have done well in't, may the Muses be
Fertil, as is your own fidelity:
Whil'st I justly declare (if you go on)
That London Bridg stands over Helicon.