Classic Poem

Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
Got an antipathy to wit and sence,
And hugg'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
'Twas good — affection to be ignorant;
Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen
I had converted, or excuseless been:
For each birth of thy muse to after-times
Shall expiate for all this age's crimes.
First shines thy Amoret, twice crown'd by thee,
Once by thy Love, next by thy Poetry;
Where thou the best of Unions dost dispence:
Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in inocence.
So that the muddyest Lovers may learn here,
No fountains can be sweet that are not cleare.
Then Juvenall reviv'd by thee declares
How flat man's Joys are, and how mean his cares;
And generously upbraids the world that they
Should such a value for their ruine pay.
But when thy sacred muse diverts her quill,
The Lantskip to design of Zion-hill,
As nothing less was worthy her or thee,
So we admire almost t'Idolatry.
What savage brest would not be rapt to find
Such Jewells in such Cabinets enshrin'd?
Thou (fill'd with Joys too great to see or count)
Descend'st from thence like Moses from the Mount,
And with a candid and unquestion'd aw,
Restor'st the golden age when verse was law
Instructing us, thou so secur'st thy fame,
That nothing can disturb it but my name;
Nay I have hopes that standing so near thine
'Twill loose its drosse, and by degrees refine.
Live! till the disabused world consent
All truths of use, or strength, or ornament,
Are with such harmony by thee displaid,
As the whole world was first by number made;
And from the charming rigour thy muse brings,
Learn there's no pleasure but in serious things.