Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts
An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion.
'TIS true, my Friend, my Style is mean and low;
But if you like it, 'tis no longer so.
What to the unkind World do's Humble seem,
Lovers and Friends may raise by their Esteem;
E'er since the Image of Immortal Love,
Made Dust and Ashes fit for Ioys above.
Yet though I had as clear and smooth a Vain,
And Sung as well as any Iovial Swain.
Though I cou'd force the Dulness of our Clime,
And aid the Lab'ring Fancy with my Rhime;
Heighten my thoughts, expel the Clouds from thence,
Or strike from them Flashes of Wit and Sence.
War wou'd disorder my soft Spirits quite,
And, like a Plague infect, and make them fight.
Rebellious War all Melody destroys,
From Plow-men's Whistle, to the Laureat's Voice.
Swords fright the Muses•rom their peacefull seat,
And Poets are the first they captivate.
Page 287Minerva's easie, while her Garment flows,
Dress her in Armour, and how stiff she goes?
The Harps that drew wild Mortals from the Wood,
And taught the Harmony of Common good,
By just proportion of their tunefull strings,
Rank't People, Gentry, Nobles, and their Kings.
Hence is it when State-Unisons expire,
They barbarously slay their Parent Lyre.