Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique &c. By Henry Bold |
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To his ingenious Friend Mr. Henry Bold on his Poems.
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 | Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique |  |
To his ingenious Friend Mr. Henry Bold on his Poems.
My
praise is insignificant, for I
Am not grown old enough in poetry;
Nor is my name yet up enough t'engage
Th'opinion of this superstitious age.
Am not grown old enough in poetry;
Nor is my name yet up enough t'engage
Th'opinion of this superstitious age.
But if I say, I like what you have writ,
Some other, that believes himself a Wit,
May differ from me in Opinion. So
To find the truth, we must to poling go.
Some other, that believes himself a Wit,
May differ from me in Opinion. So
To find the truth, we must to poling go.
Now in this envy'ous and ill-natur'd time,
Verse is a scandal, and to print a crime.
In this half-witted and ungrateful Town
The most (that is the worst) will cry thee down
For those three hainous crimes, Truth, Wit, and Verse;
And swear it is thy Vice to meddle with theirs.
Verse is a scandal, and to print a crime.
In this half-witted and ungrateful Town
The most (that is the worst) will cry thee down
For those three hainous crimes, Truth, Wit, and Verse;
And swear it is thy Vice to meddle with theirs.
So I'll suspend Encomiums, and transmit
Those to thy book, which praises thee and it:
For Poets to praise Poets is as bad,
As if one mad-man said anothe'rs mad,
Those to thy book, which praises thee and it:
For Poets to praise Poets is as bad,
As if one mad-man said anothe'rs mad,
And (to say truth) men did the Muse suborn,
To claw a friend, or else to serve a turn;
Good Verse and bad were prais'd with equal wit
Just as the praiser on the humour hit.
Encomiums like farwell Sermons grew,
All car'd how well to speak, but none how true.
The Knave and Dunce with both of us did speed
As th'Poets humor'd, or the Levite fee'd.
This made wise Readers all our votes despise,
And their contempt made future writers wise.
To praise friends wits is out of fashion grown,
We only now break jests to shew our own.
To claw a friend, or else to serve a turn;
Just as the praiser on the humour hit.
Encomiums like farwell Sermons grew,
All car'd how well to speak, but none how true.
The Knave and Dunce with both of us did speed
As th'Poets humor'd, or the Levite fee'd.
This made wise Readers all our votes despise,
And their contempt made future writers wise.
To praise friends wits is out of fashion grown,
We only now break jests to shew our own.
Alex. Brome.
| Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | |