Poems, chiefly consisting of satyrs and satyrical epistles by Robert Gould.

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Title
Poems, chiefly consisting of satyrs and satyrical epistles by Robert Gould.
Author
Gould, Robert, d. 1709?
Publication
London :: Printed, and are to be sold by most booksellers in London and Westminster,
1689.
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A41698.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Poems, chiefly consisting of satyrs and satyrical epistles by Robert Gould." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A41698.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 2, 2025.

Pages

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TO THE Right Honourable CHARLES, EARL of Dorset and Middlesex, &c.

My Lord,

THE best Excuse the Author of a Dedication can make his Patron, is, in my Iudgment, to as∣sure him he shall not be troubled with his future Impertinence. I have oft presum'd upon your Lordship's Good∣ness, and can no otherwise make amends

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than by protesting this is the last time I shall offend you in this Nature. Poetry has hitherto been my Diver∣sion; I must take care it does not en∣croach upon my better Judgment, and oblige me to make it my business: in order to it, I here take a solemn and lasting leave of it: Your Lordship has set the Example. In your Youth Poesie, sometimes, snatch't a moment or two from your other Diversions, and never, indeed, did so small time produce so lovely an Issue; Whatever you writ was full of that Fancy, Wit and Judgment, which made, and does yet make your Conversation, of all things, most desirable and charm∣ing: but now grown to an age mature, more solid and sublime things are be∣come the Favorites of your choice and

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study. Poetry shou'd never be en∣tertain'd in a Man's Bosome, she may sometimes be admitted to make a Visit and away; her constant converse is vain and trivial: What Cowley says upon another occasion, I cou'd, methinks naturally adapt to my pre∣sent thoughts of Poetry;

My Eyes are open'd and I see Through the transparent Fallacy.

Indeed, my Lord, to be always versifying, is to be always wasting the most pretious Gift of Heav'n, our Time, without so much as the pretence of Gain for an Excuse: But say that a Man were worthy of praise, and that his Writings really deserv'd it; yet that Chamelion diet is a little too

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thin for a Poet's constitution; though I must confess, if 'twere possible to live upon Air, our Modern Rhimers wou'd find out the secret. But since 'tis not, 'tis time, my Lord, to take my leave of an unkind Mistress, and not with them doat on till I am in danger of starving.

I am,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's most humble And much obliged Servant, R. Gould.

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