Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

If e'er to Writing You pretend,
Your utmost Aim and Study bend,
The Paths of Virtue to befriend,
However mean your Ditty;
That while your Verse the Reader draws
To Reason's and Religion's Laws,
None e'er hereafter may have Cause
To curse your being witty.

II

No Gods or weak or wicked feign,
Where foolish Blasphemy is plain;
But Good to wire-draw from the Strain,
The Critick's Art perplexes:
Make not a pious Chief forego
A Princess he betray'd to Woe,
Nor Shepherd, unplatonick, show
His Fondness for Alexis.

III

With partial Blindness to a Side,
Extol not surly Stoick Pride,
When wild Ambition's rapid Tide
Bursts Nature's Bonds asunder:
Nor let a Hero loud blaspheme,
Rave like a Madman in a Dream,
'Till Jove himself affrighted seem,
Not trusting to his Thunder.

185

IV

Nor chuse the wanton Ode, to praise
Unbridled Loves, or thoughtless Days,
In soft Epicurean Lays;
A num'rous melting Lyrick:
Nor Satyr, that would Lust chastise
With angry Warmth and Maxim wise,
Yet, loosely painting naked Vice,
Becomes its Panegyrick.

V

Nor jumbled Atoms entertain
In the void Spaces of your Brain;
Deny all Gods, while Venus vain
Stands without Vesture painted:
Nor show the foul Nocturnal Scene
Of Courts and Revellings unclean,
Where never Libertine had been
Worse than the Poet tainted.

VI

Nor let luxuriant Fancy rove
Through Nature and through Art of Love,
Skill'd in smooth Elegy to move,
Youth unexperienc'd firing:
Nor Gods as Brutes expose to view,
Nor monstrous Crimes; nor lend a Clew
To guide the guilty Lover through
The Mazes of Desiring.

186

VII

Nor Sparrow mourn, nor sue to kiss,
Nor draw your fine-spun Wit so nice,
That thin-spread Sense like nothing is,
Or worse than nothing showing:
Nor Spite in Epigram declare,
Pleasing the Mob with Lewdness bare,
Or Flattery's pestilential Air
In Ears of Princes blowing.

VIII

Through modern Italy pass down,
In Crimes inferior She to none!
Through France, her Thoughts in Lust alone
Without Reserve proclaiming:
Stay there, who count it worth the while,
Let us deduce our useful Stile
To note the Poets of our Isle,
And only spare the Naming.

IX

Sing not loose Stories for the Nonce,
Where Mirth for Bawdry ill attones,
Nor long-tongu'd Wife of Bath, at once
On Earth and Heaven jesting:
Nor, while the main at Virtue aims,
Insert, to sooth forbidden Flames,
In a chaste Work, a Squire of Dames,
Or Paridell a feasting.

187

X

Nor Comick Licence let us see,
Where all things sacred outrag'd be,
Where Plots of mere Adultery
Fill the lascivious Pages:
One only Step can yet remain,
More frankly, shamelessly unclean,
To bring it from behind the Scene,
And act it on the Stages.

XI

Nor make your tragick Hero bold
Out-bully Capaneus of old,
While justling Gods his Rage behold,
And tremble at his Frowning:
Nor need'st thou vulgar Wit display,
Acknowledg'd in Dramatick Way
Greatest and best;—O spare the Lay
Of poor Ophelia drowning.

XII

Nor dress your Shame in courtly Phrase,
Where artful Breaks the Fancy raise,
And Ribaldry unnam'd the Lays
Transparently is seen in:
Nor make it your peculiar Pride
To strive to show what others hide,
To throw the Fig-leaf quite aside,
And scorn a double Meaning.

188

XIII

Nor ever prostitute the Muse,
Malicious, mercenary, loose,
All Faith, all Parties to abuse;
Still changing still to Evil,
Make Maximin with Heav'n engage,
Blaspheming Sigismonda rage,
Draw Scenes of Lust in latest Age,
Apostle of the Devil.

XIV

Detest prophaning Holy Writ,
A Rock where Heathens could not split:
Old Jove more harmless charm'd the Pit
Of Plautus's Creation;
Than when th' Adulterer was show'd
With Attributes of real God:
But Fools, the Means of Grace allow'd,
Pervert to their Damnation.

XV

Mingle not Wit with Treason rude,
To please the Rebel Multitude:
From Poison intermix'd with Food
What Caution e'er can screen us?
Ne'er stoop to court a wanton Smile;
Thy pious Strains and lofty Stile,
Too light, nor let an Alma soil,
Nor paltry Dove of Venus.

189

XVI

Such Blots deform the tuneful Train,
Whilst they false Glory would attain,
Or present Mirth, or present Gain,
Unmindful of Hereafter.
Do You mistaken Ends despise,
Nor fear to fall, nor seek to rise,
Nor taint the Good, nor grieve the Wise,
To tickle Fools with Laughter.

XVII

What tho' with ease you could aspire
To Virgil's Art or Homer's Fire;
If Vice and Lewdness breaths the Lyre,
If Virtue it asperses;
Better with honest Quarles compose
Emblem, that good Intention shows,
Better be Bunyan in his Prose,
Or Sternhold in his Verses.