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The Lady-Errant

A Tragi-Comedy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
On Mr Cartvvright's Poems.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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On Mr Cartvvright's Poems.

Draw neer poor hungry Mortals to this Shrine,
Whose Muses, like Paul's-Men, on Statues dine:
Whose hide-bound Fancies never act their smiles
'Less fed with Giants, and Enchanted Isles.
Taste Cartvvright, whose admired Language can
Un-phlegme the dulness of an Alderman,
Whose gross conceit could not arive at sense
Higher than that which appertains to Pence:
Here's One will make him write beyond Receiv'd
Of such a One the Sum—I say Receiv'd.
Here's Wit Stenography'd. No Compass steers
A Course unknown to Him: He coasts the Spheres;
For what Platonick Spencer did unfold,
Or smooth-tongu'd Carew to the World hath told,
What came in reach of Fletcher's searching mind,
Or Beaumont's towring Brain could ever find,
What other heads, who must unchristen'd go,
Like Zanies to the Wits in Folio;
All their rare Arts our Author does display:
All Stars mix here, and make a Milky-way.
He sweetly guides the nimble Lyrick feet,
And makes the thundring Epicks aptly meet,
Charm'd by his Numbers Waves forget to land,
Times Wheels are trig'd, and brib'd to make a stand:
Let other Fancies draw the Body whole,
Our Poet's Pencill can pourtray the Soul.
Now as a Lady does disdain to pull
Of ev'ry Flower in a Garden-full,
But rather in one Rose delighted finds
The sev'rall glories of all other Kinds:
So do thou Reader by this Book; since here's
All Wit compriz'd in Pigmy Characters.
H. B. F. Nc. Oxon.