 | The Novella |  |
To the Stationer, on the publishing Mr . Bromes Comedies.
Since Poems of this nature, honest Freind,Do, of themselves, nor praise nor discomend
An Author or his Work; but He, and It,
Must by the Readers Palate rise or set;
What need we write Encomiums, or expose
Our judging Rhymes, to be laught at in Prose?
We're like Godfathers (as they're us'd of late)
Not to Engage for Children, but give Plate.
And truely scarce there is a Poet known,
That praises others wit, but clawes his own.
But tis the Custome, and who won't submit,
Must be esteem'd a Schismatick in wit:
And therefore in obedience to the power,
Ile tell the World, I've read these Poems o're,
And in them finde so naturall a vaine
That I may safely say, who does not love it,
Can't for his life write any thing above it.
This witty Pen, this mirthfull Comick style,
Makes us at once both serious, and smile.
Wraps serious truths in fab'lous mysteries,
And thereby makes us merry, and yet wise.
No Gods, or Goddesses his rimes supply'd,
One he ador'd, and all the rest defy'd.
No stradling Tetrasyllables are brought
To fill up room, and little spell, or nought.
No Bumbast Raptures, and no lines immense,
That's call'd (by th' curtesie of England) sence.
But all's so plaine, that one may see, he made it
T' inform the understanding, not invade it.
And the designes so probable, that though
They be not true, tis like they may be so.
Thus Travellour-like, I do inform our Nation,
Being return'd, what is my Observation.
But if, as Coriat did, I do relate
Buildings, and Gallowses, not Acts of State;
Pardon my want of skill, and Ile be Debtor
To him, that on perusall notes things better.
Alex. Brome.
| The Novella | |