Poems and songs by Thomas Flatman.

TO MY FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN upon the publication of his POEMS.

I.

AS when a Prince his Standard do's erect, And calls his Subjects to the Feild: From such as Early take his side, And readily obedience yeild; He is instructed where he may suspect; And where he safely may confide: So Mighty Friend! That you may see. A perfect Evidence of Loyalty; No business I pretend,

My self I disengage From all the Incumbrances of humane life From nourishing the sinful peoples strife, And all th'infirmities of age.

II.

Domestique care, the minds incurable disease, That (till the last Emperiment) expects no ease, Dependance to the only thing That next to God, and (his Annoynted here) the ••King) I will (if possible) forget; My thoughts I will in order set; My fast Allegiance I am bound to show; And (though I cannot quite dissolve the debt) I must acknowledge what I ow.

III.

But what alas! will our desire avail, When active strength and vigour fail?

'Tis well thou hast more Potent Combatants, than I That may protect thy Imortality. If Envy that Attaqu'es the best of things And into Rigid question brings The most undoubted Registers of Fame; If Envy shall assault thy white & spotless name, Their whole Artillery let them dispence: Their Peirceing wit and murd'ring Eloquence, Noble conceit and Manly Sence, Charming Numbers let then shine, And dazle dead in every line The most malicious of thy Foes. Though Hell it self should offer to oppose, I (thy decrepit Subject) only can Resigne The little life of Art is left, to Ransome thine: If a Dart I may prevent, Which at thy repute was meant; Let them all direct at me. By dying in this Holy War,

I possibly may share, By accident in thy Infallible Eternity.

IV.

But Mighty Friend! (Before it be too late) Let us a while expostulate. What Heat of Glory call'd thee on Thy learned Empire to extend, Beyond the limits of thy Vast Dominion? At home already thou wert crown'd with Ba••es: Why do'st thou forreign Trophies seek to raise. Poets Arcana's have of Government. And though the Homagers of thine owne Cont∣inent, Out of a Sense of duty do submit, Yet Printing (Sir) a jealous fear creates, And shews a laid design Unto the Neighbouring Potentates

Then into all thy secret Arts they pry? And weigh each Circumstance of poli••y; Offensive and Defensive Leagues they twine, In Councells and Cabals they sit Industriously they all Combine Against the universal Monarchy of wit,

V.

Hence then prepare for an Invasion: Not from any European civiliz'd Nation. They differ only circumstantially, Concerning niceties in Poesy; And all allow thy Art, Order, and Rules of De∣cency, We all agree in principles, nere was yet A perfect Beauty or un••erring Wit.

VI.

Ah Freind! I fear the Barbarous, (The Infidel unletter'd Crew •• mean)

That of no wit approve, but what's profane or els obscene▪ These by far out number us, And by Hostility possess The Worlds much greater part, Like Mahumetans themselves, they openly profess The Common Enemies of our Beleife and Art, If these should an advantage take! And on thy Glory depredation make, You must submit to the Unhappiness, The Vulgar, measure Arts (like Valour) by success, If the Battel be not won If the Author do not sell; Into their dull capacities it will not Sink, They cannot with deliberation think: How bravely the Commander led them on, Nor wherein the Books was written well: (When tis a thing impossible to do,) He cannot find his Army courage (Sir) nor you Your Reader••s Learning, Wit, and Iudgment too.