Classic Poem

Come leave this saucy way
Of baiting those that pay
Dear for the sight of your declining wit:
'Tis known it is not fit,
That a sale Poet, just contempt once thrown,
Should cry up thus his own.
I wonder by what Dowre
Or Patent you had power
From all to rap't a judgment. Let't suffice,
Had you been modest, y'had been granted wise.

'Tis known you can do well,
And that you do excell
As a Translator: But when things require
A genius and fire,
Not kindled heretofore by others pains;
As oft y'have wanted brains
And art to strike the White,
As you have levell'd right:
Yet if men vouch not things Apocryphal,
You bellow, rave and spatter round your gall.

Jug, Pierce, Peck, Fly , and all
Your Jests so nominal,
Are things so far beneath an able Brain,
As they do throw a stain
Through all th'unlikely plot, and do displease
As deep as Pericles ,
Where yet there is not laid
Before a Chamber-maid
Discourse so weigh'd, as might have serv'd of old
For Schools, when they of Love and Valour told.

Why Rage then? when the show
Should Judgment be and Know-
ledge, that there are in Plush who scorn to drudge
For Stages, yet can judge
Not onely Poets looser lives but wits,
And all their Perquisits.
A gift as rich as high
Is noble Poesie:
Yet though in sport it be for Kings a play,
'Tis next Mechanick when it works for pay.

Alcaeus Lute had none,
Nor loose Anacreon
E're taught so bold assuming of the Bayes,
When they deserv'd no praise.
To rail men into approbation
Is new, is yours alone,
And prospers not: For know
Fame is as coy as you
Can be disdainful; and who dares to prove
A rape on her, shall gather scorn, not love.

Leave then this humour vain,
And this more humorous strain,
Where self-conceit and choler of the bloud
Eclipse what else is good:
Then if you please those raptures high to touch,
Whereof you boast so much;
And but forbear your Crown
Till the world puts it on:
No doubt from all you may amazement draw,
Since braver Theme no Phoebus ever saw.