 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
To Poet E. W.
Occasion'd for his Writing a Panegyrick on Oliver Cromwell.
From whence, vile Poet, did'st thou glean the Wit,
And Words for such a vitious Poem fit?
Where could'st thou Paper find was not too white;
Or Ink, that could be black enough to write?
What servile Devil tempted thee to be
A slatterer of thine own Slavery?
To kiss thy Bondage, and extol the deed,
At once that made thy Prince, and Country bleed?
I wonder much thy false Heart did not dread,
And shame to write, what all Men blush to read;
Thus with a base ingratitude to rear
Trophies unto thy Master's Murtherer?
And Words for such a vitious Poem fit?
Where could'st thou Paper find was not too white;
Or Ink, that could be black enough to write?
What servile Devil tempted thee to be
A slatterer of thine own Slavery?
To kiss thy Bondage, and extol the deed,
At once that made thy Prince, and Country bleed?
I wonder much thy false Heart did not dread,
And shame to write, what all Men blush to read;
484
Trophies unto thy Master's Murtherer?
Who call'd thee Coward (------) much mistook
The characters of thy pedantick Look;
Thou hast at once abus'd thy self, and us;
He's stout that dares slatter a Tyranne thus.
The characters of thy pedantick Look;
Thou hast at once abus'd thy self, and us;
He's stout that dares slatter a Tyranne thus.
Put up thy Pen, and Ink, muzzle thy Muse
Adulterate Hag fit for a common Stews,
No good Man's Library; writ thou hast
Treason in Rhime has all thy Works defac't:
Such is thy fault, that when I think to find
A punishment of the severest kind,
For thy offence, my malice cannot name
A greater; than, once to commit the same.
Adulterate Hag fit for a common Stews,
No good Man's Library; writ thou hast
Treason in Rhime has all thy Works defac't:
Such is thy fault, that when I think to find
A punishment of the severest kind,
For thy offence, my malice cannot name
A greater; than, once to commit the same.
Where was thy reason then, when thou began
To write against the sense of God, and Man?
Within thy guilty breast Despair took place,
Thou would'st despairing Die in spite of Grace.
At once th' art Judge, and Malefactor shown,
Each Sentence in thy Poem is thine own.
To write against the sense of God, and Man?
Within thy guilty breast Despair took place,
Thou would'st despairing Die in spite of Grace.
At once th' art Judge, and Malefactor shown,
Each Sentence in thy Poem is thine own.
Then, what thou hast pronounc'd go execute,
Hang up thy self, and say, I bid thee do't;
Fear not thy memory, that cannot dye,
This Panegyrick is thy Elegy,
Which shall be when; or wheresoever read,
A living Poem to upbraid thee dead.
Hang up thy self, and say, I bid thee do't;
485
This Panegyrick is thy Elegy,
Which shall be when; or wheresoever read,
A living Poem to upbraid thee dead.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |