Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose :: :: University of Virginia Library

As wine, that with its own weight run's, is best,
And counted much more noble then the Prest:
So is that Poetry, whose generous Straines
Flow without servile Study, Art, or Paines.

[Poets]
Make the Gods Stickle in Heroique Actions,
And manage all Disputes in Armes by Factions,
That set the Knights together by the eares,
And part them afterwards like Dogs and Beares;
For when the Champions valiantly have fought
The Gods themselves, to part the Fray, fall out.

Things that are written in Cold bloud
Seldom prove excellently good.

Can any thing be don or sayd
That may not good, or bad be made?

Poets are Free of evry Nation
And need no Naturalization.

For why should not affected Negligence
Pass for wit here as freely as in France?

Wits that are always in the State of war
Hold it no Crime but Lawful Prize
To plunder those that are their enemies.

For one Admirer is enough
To serve for good sufficient proof,
Though ever so extravagant
Among the weake and Ignorant.

Why should a Man aske Pardon for a fault
That's in his Power to commit or not?

For as some Critiques use to make that wit,
That never was so much as meant for it;

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[So] (to be like themselves) they'l make that pass
For Nonsense and mistake, that never was;
[Th]at like to Rookes bet on some fancyd hand,
[W]hich they like better then they understand.
[F]or what they finde not faulty they wil make,
And Damne what's written wel, and they mistake;
[F]or whatsoever is above their reach
[To] their own Low capacity they'l stretch.

It is not Poetry that makes men Poore;
For few do write, that were not so before;
For those that have writ best, had they been rich,
[Had] nere been clap'd with a Poetique itch;
Had lovd their ease too well, to take the Paines
[To u]ndergo that drudgery of Braines;
[B]ut being for all other Trades unfit,
[On]ly t' avoyd b'ing idle set up wit.

Some call it Fury, some a Muse,
That, as Possessing Devils use,
Haunts, and forsake's a man, by fits:
And when hee's in, h' is out of 's wits.

A Foolish Title, like a Foolish Look,
Is a True Symptom of a foolish Book.

He that creepes after Sense shal nere excel
In Nonsense, Fustian, nor in Doggerel.

No other Nation's so severely bent
To see offenders brought to punishment
As th' English are, for when a Thief is Caught,
To be by officers to Justice brought,
All People Crow'd to hurry him along,
As if h' had don to evry one the wrong:
So when a Poet happens to Commit
Ever so smal a Robbery of wit,
You al Cry upon him, and pursue,
As if h' had stol'n from evry one of you.

A Satyr, like a Roman Magistrate,
Has Rods before him born in state,

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To fright the Guilty from their Crimes,
And Scourge the faults of vicious Times:
For in extent of Powr a Satyr
Is absolute as a Dictator.

Who always shootes his Bolts of wit
Has ill Luck if they never hit.

Nothing more moves the just disdain of men
Then bold assumings of an Ignorant Pen.

He that would understand what you have writ
Must read it through a Microscop of wit;
For evry Line is Drawn so curious there
He must have more then eies that reads it cleare.

All Elegies are false and Satyrs true
If Prayse and Disprayse had its Due.

As Pedants when they fayl in prose or verse
Maintaine their Errors by committing worse
Tel what they learnt when they were boys at Schoole
An[d] Justify their Nonsense with a Rule.

All writers, though of Diffrent Fancies,
Do make all People in Romances,
That are distrest and discontent,
Make Songs and sing t' an Instrument;
And Poets by their Suffrings grow,
As if there were no more to do,
To make a Poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.

They, that do write in Authors Prayses,
And freely give their Friends their voyces,
Are not Confind to what is True;
That's not to give, but pay a Due:
For prayse that's true, do[es] give no more
To worth, then what it had before;
But to commend without Desert
Requires a Mastery of Art,
That set's a gloss on what's amisse,
And writes what should be, not what is.

246

In Forraine Universities,
When a King's born, or wed's, or Dy's,
All other Studys are layd by,
And all apply to Poetry:
Some write in Hebrew, some in Greeke,
And some more wise in Arabique,
T' avoyd the Critique, and th' expence
Of Difficulter wit, and Sense,
And seeme more Learnedish then those
That at a greater Charge Compose.
The Doctors lead, and Students follow;
Some call him Mars, and some Apollo,
Some Jupiter, and give him th' ods
Or even tearmes of all the gods:
Then Cæsar he's nicknamd, as Duly as
He that in Rome was Christend Julius,
And was adrest to by a Crow
As pertinently long agoe;
And with more Hero's Names is Stild,
Then Saints are clubd t' an Austrian Child:
And as wit goes by Colleges,
As wel as Standing and Degrees,
He stil write's better then the rest,
Who's of the House that's Counted best.

All the wit
At Play-houses is in the Pit.

For Poets sing, and ne're speake Plain,
As those that quote their works maintain,
And no man's bound to any thing
He do's not say, but only sing.
For since the good Confessors time
No deeds are valid writ in Rhime,
Nor any held Authentique Acts
Seald with a Tooth upon the wax:
For Men did then so freely deal,
Their words were deeds, and teeth a Seal;
And 'tis not a Straw-matter whether
'Tis tru or false, or both, or neither,

247

For all men write in th' Intervalls
Of Sense is neither tru nor false.

Melodious as the Bard, whose Muse
Resound's in Galleries, and Pews,
Or those Heroique Deathles sheets
Are Chanted at the Ends of Streets.

Stages are but Poets Banks
On which they play Heroique Pranks.

So Homer in th' Immortall Piques
Between the Trojans, and the Greeks,
That neither Party might Prevayl
Bring's in the Gods to stave, and Tayl.

For all Encomions are but meant to whedle
Enchant and tickle writers, like a Fiddle,
And Blow them up, with Rosen, and Horse-hair,
As Bel once, and the Idol Dragon were.

Some modern Authors have found out New ways
To hedg applause in at the end of Plays,
And cheat their Audience with a sly intrigue
By turning of an Epilogue t' a Jigge,
And, if yee clap it, as ye are always wont,
To put th' Applause upon the Plays account.
But he that makes a Conscience of his ways
Wil not defraud you of one Jot of prays,
But rather take whatever you think fit
Then use the least cheat to set of[f] his wit.

Brambles and Thorns weare Prickles to defend
Their Harsh wild Fruite against the Fingers end
While nobler Trees freely expose their Store
And as that's richer, bend their Bows the lower.

As Poets that for money write
Do but make Sale-work Coarse and slight
That for the cheapnes of the Stuff
Is like to go the better of[f].

248

As al Fanatiques preach, so al men write
Out of the Strength of Gifts, and Inward light,
In Spight of Art, as Horses thorough-pac'd
Were never taught, and therefore go more fast.

As He that make's his Mark is understood
To write his Name, and 'tis in Law as good:
So he that cannot write one word of Sense
Believ's he ha's as legal a Pretence
To Scribble what he do's not understand,
As Idiots have a Title to their Land.

Some to that height of Impudence are grown
To charge on others thefts that are their own.

A Prologue is the usher of a Play
Just as an Eave is to a Holiday.

Critiques are like a kinde of Flys that breed
In wild Fig-trees, and when they'r grown up, feed
Upon the raw Fruit of the nobler kinde,
And by their nibling on the outward rinde
Open the Pores, and make way for the Sun
To rip'n it sooner then he would have don.

Some by whole Tribes and Familys do write
New Plays as th' antient Jews were wont to fight.

Al men of Judgment do not ask how soone
A thing was doing but how wel 'tis done.

Some hold it is Impossible to write
One Act without a Song, or Dance, or fight,
Or make al Different Intrigues accord
Until th' have been decided by the Sword.

For Gentlest Spectators at a Play,
That throng and Crowd to see it the first Day,
Feare nothing more then that it should prove Good
Or by the wit-inquisitors be allowd,
But chiefly those that have writ il before
And do intend to try again once more.

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Who like those kinde Spectators in the Ring
When Necks are broken at a Wrastling
No matter whose, set up their throats and Bawl
O'rejoyd when any man receive's a Fall.

Al sorts of Ideots, like Fanatiques,
Have pow'r in Comedy, and turn Dramatiques
For just as when a Taylor make's a Suite
What neede's the Cloth or stuffe he uses to't
Should by himself be made? No more is't fit
All a man writes should be of his own wit.

For He that steales French wit do's worse
Then he that Picks an empty Purse,
And is an Ignoranter Toney
Then he that files and clip's false money,
And vainly think's to gaine by those,
Who never had one Souse to loose,
Worse then a Goldfinder that rake's
For Spoones and Bodkins in a Jakes.

No Man wants wit, for he that has the least
Believes hee's as well furnishd as the Best.

For hee's a Poet that write's bad,
No less then he that do's excel,
As he's a Merchant that do's loose as wel
As he that thrives and grow's rich by his trade.

As if the Plaine Expression of a Thought,
The greatest Mastry, were the greatest fault.

For as in Tale of Dead things men are wont
To allow more in th' hundred on account
Then to the Living: So men after fate,
Have more allowd in th' hundred to their weight
Then th' had before: For Nature has Contrived,
That men are Fuller dead, then when they livd.