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The Lady-Errant

A Tragi-Comedy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
On M. Cartvvright and his Poems.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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On M. Cartvvright and his Poems.

You'l think it strange to see my Name in print,
Subscrib'd to Verses, and there's something in't
Deserves your Admiration; for you see,
I am what Nature ne'r intended me:
Without a slumber on the forked Mount
Cartvvright makes Poets. On the same accompt
You may be greater, loftier if you please:
Who reads his Strains may write pure Sophocles.
An Author of such Fame that ne'r did sow
Wit in that Field, where Judgment would not grow:
Nor can we hear the Musick of his Verse,
But leaving Earth we straight with Heaven converse.
If we must use as Mortall what we have,
And as Immortall, keep what Fortune gave:
This Treasure left us in his Lines, will be
Pledge of his Worth to all Posterity;
And prove the riches of his Mind, though crost
By an untimely Fate, can ne'r be lost.
'Twill be preserv'd, though not in glorious Tombs,
In Libraries, which are more noble Rooms.
Yet I conceive if this, this precious Book
(Thy Magazine Learn'd Cartwright) had been took
Amongst the Spoiles to Alexander brought,
When with Malignant Starrs Darius fought,
His richest Cabinet had made a Shrine
For Homers Iliads, and these Works of thine.
Hen: Davison.