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To his intimate and learned friend Master Thomas Nabbes on his ensuing Poems.
 

 

 


To his intimate and learned friend Master Thomas Nabbes on his ensuing Poems.

Let those who to the world oft publish forth
Their owne deserts, in praysing others worth,
Throng for a roome; and pride themselves to be
Ranck'd in the front of thy learn'd poesie.
It shall suffice mee (who have never yet
Studied to humour others, not have sweat
Like some, two houres in plodding jests, which may
At the first sight their authour's wits betray)
To have a meaner roome: for I nor come
To begge the reader mittigate thy doome;
Nor with intent to praise thy worke or thee:
For that would seeme a plaine Tautologie.
Those, whose diviner soules Phœbean flame
Hath throughly kindled, such as have a name
I'the list of Phœbu's darlings, will admire
The eager flames of thy poetique fire.
None will dislike ought here, but such dull things
Whose soules are out of tune; When Phœbus sings
Some bayards will be bold to judge his straine
Harsh and unpleasing; yet applaud the vaine—
—Confused sound of some hoarse pipers voyce,
And say 'tis rare, and makes an excellent noyse.
If that it chance some fancy not thy straine
Th'are dull and ignorant; the wiser traine
Will praise thee for't, and utter still with fame
The often mention of thy honourd name.
Let critiques censure, and these lines condemne,
Secur d by thine owne bayes, their rage contemne.
C. G. Oxon.