Classic Poem

Nihil tam bene dectum, quod non fuit dictum prius

Were all the Wits that mortall Braines immure
(By supposition, or in Deed) made one,
Yea though they were most subtile made, and pure,
By al the Helpes that Wit can thinke vpon,
They could not [though they did themselues distract
With strayning hard] a new Inuention frame:
For, each new Deed doth turne into some Act
[In some yeares compasse] past, before the same
Our Actions, and Inuentions are fast fixt
Vnto the Spheare of Vniformity:
Though oft the same, with Differences, be mixt,
Yet they, with Like, past hold conformity:
For, as the heaunly Orbs, in wheeling, cause
The Stars to meet in oft coniunction,
For from the like, the like Time often drawes
That rightest were in opposition:
So, do our Words, and Deeds, with Turnes of Time.
Turn in't themselues: then, out, then in againe;
And, as a Wheele doth roundly fall, and climb,
So, Fashions, out of vse, come in amaine:
We cannot think of that hath not bin thought:
For our more studious Ancients straind their Braines
Beyond our reache though we in vaine haue sought
To straine our Wits beyond their Wisedoms Straines
To instance would but breed satiety;
But, breefly, Lett vs cite some few, for All:
Who hath past Plato, in Philosophy?
Who Homer for the Arte Poeticall?
In Oratory Craft who hath out stript
The Father of the Romaine eloquence?
Whose Tongue and Pen were so in Hony dipt
That now we lick him, to make sweet our Sense
Then for the Mathematicks, who compares
With Archimedes (Wonder of all Times)
And who for Musick, with Amphion dares
Play for the Prize whose fame past Wonder climbs!
What Painter will not blush a Line to draw
With Zeuxis; whose bright name bright Fame doth dim?
What Imager would not seeme rude, and raw
Before Pigmalion , if he wrought with him?
By this small Touch, we well may tast the Whole
Huge Body-politick of Arts-men past:
Which is alike throughout; which Bodies Soule
Holds all that All are learning to the last.
We may suppose w'haue lighted on a Vaine
Without this Body, when our Muse doth flo
In some Inuention, past the modern Straine,
But, Self-conceit makes vs imagin so:
For, read All extant, and if some, or all
Of thy Conceit were not comprized in some
Thou art a Spirit, and no Man Naturall:
Who speakes as he is taught, or els is dumbe
This idle painfull foolish witty Worke
[Pardon mee Patience to call it so]
I may conceaue in no Conceit did lurk
Before, from mine, it (thus made run) did flo;
But God doth know on whose Vaine I haue lighted
I know not, sith, I know, I know non such:
Yet for inditing, I may be indited
For taking That which I ought not to touch
If so I haue, it was through ignorance
Of what right Others had, to what I haue;
And if Theirs be my Wits poore maintainance,
Proue it; and I am theirs, to spill or saue
But some there are that take most greedily
From the old Store, sith they know Nought is new:
If then, they write both well and speedily
They but engrosse the Deeds that others drew
Yet, sooth to say, howeuer some may vaunt
They scorne to steale, yet They, yea, and their Heires
Take [by their leaues] and yet the World inchant
With coniuring Words, to think it only theirs!
Old Pictures well refresht do seem as new:
And none but Artists know them to be old:
Then they earne praise, as those that first them drew,
Who make them, newly, their old beauty hold
Thers nothing new: no not so much as Sin:
For, what sin now is done, but hath bin done
When the Worlds Face was washt for soile therein:
Which from most fowle to Filthier far did run.
And though the World doth wax stil worse and worse,
Its since that Deluge, which then scowrd hir Scums:
And so it must grow worse and worse, perforce,
Vntil hir second, and last clensing comes
Which being by Fires (as erst weake Waters) Mean
It, euer after, shalbe new, and clean!