Poems by John Hall.

To the honoured Authour M^r. Hall on his Poems.

DO'st mean to spoil thy self? do knotty arts And pale fac'd study fit the silken parts Of Gentle-men? or can'st thou stretch thy ears To hear the holy accents of the sphears From their own volumes? wilt thou let thy hand Tempt their strange measures in religious sand?

Summon thy lungs, and with an angry breath Ravell the curious dust, and throw't beneath Thy braver feet, 'tis too too low, go hence And see the sphears with blest intelligence Moving at tennis; Go and steep thy brain In fluent Nectar: or go vie a strain In goatish courtship; that (indeed) were good Currently noble. Nothing taint's the bloud Like this (base) study; Hence ye arts, be gone Ye brats, which serious superstition Brings to the thred-bare parent—

But thou, brave youth, with prudent skill hast taught Thy purged ear to hear, yet not be caught With these fond Sirens. Thy green thoughts may vie With hoary wisdome: thy clear soul can spie The mines of knowledge, can as quickly store

It self, and dive to the retired Or, Thou like that Eater (whom thy happy song Shall cause to eat up time himself) with strong And sprightly heat, thou can'st each art digest In the vast stomach of thy knowing brest. And when severer thoughts at length shall please T' unbend themselves, then with such strains as these Thou court'st each witty Goddesse, and do'st tie Thy purer ease in their festivity.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 Ja. Windet M. A. Reginal.