And yet in it there can be no antipodes,

For none hereafter will go contrary to you.

VII.

Poets till now deferv'd excufe, not praife,
Till now the Mufes liv'd in taverns, and the bays
That they were truly trees did fhew,
Because by fucking liquor they did only grow.
Verfes were counted fiction, and a lye
The very nature of good poetry.

He was a poet that could fpeak leaft truth :
Sober and grave men fcorn'd the name,

Which once was thought the greatest fame.
Poets had nought elfe of Apollo, but his youth
Few ever spake in rhyme, but that their feet
The trencher of fome liberal man might meet.
Or elfe they did some rotten mistress paint,
Call her their goddefs, or their faint.

Though contrary in this they to their mafter run,
For the great god of wit, the fun,

When he doth fhew his miftrefs, the white moon, He makes her fpots, as well as beauty, to be fhewn. Till now the fifters were too old, and therefore grew Extremely fabulous too:

Till you, Sir, came, they were defpis'd;

They were all heathens yet,

Nor ever into the church could get;

And though they had a font fo long, yet never were

baptis'd.

VIII.

You, Sir, have rais'd the price of wit,

By bringing in more store of it :
Poetry, the queen of arts, can now

Reign, without diffembling too.

You've fhewn a poet must not needs be bad

That one may be Apollo's priest,

;

And be fill'd with his oracles, without being mad

Till now,

wit was a curfe (as to Lot's wife

'Twas to be turn'd to falt)

Because it made men lead a life,

Which was nought else but one continual fault.
You firft the Mufes to the Chriftians brought,
And you then first the holy language taught :
In you good poetry and divinity meet,
You are the first bird of paradife with feet.

IX.

Your Mifcellanies do appear
Juft fuch another glorious indigefted heap
As the firft mafs was, where

All heavens and ftars inclofed were,
Before they each one to their place did leap..
Before God the great cenfor them bestow'd,
According to their ranks, in feveral tribes abroad;
Whilft yet fun and moon

Were in perpetual conjunction:

Whilft all the stars were but one milky way,

And in natural embraces lay.

Whilst yet none of the lamps of heaven might
Call this their own, and that another's light.
So glorious a lump as thine,

Which chemistry may separate, but not refine:
So mixt, fo pure, fo united does it shine,
A chain of fand, of which each link is all divine.

X.

Thy Mistress shews, that Cupid is not always blind, Where we a pure exalted Mufe do find, Such as may well become a glorified mind.

Such fongs tune angels when they love, And do make courtship to fome fifter-mind above (For angels need not fcorn fuch foft defires, Seeing thy heart is touch'd with the same fires). So when they clothe themselves in flesh, And their light in some human shapes do dress (For which they fetch'd stuff from the neighbouring air): So when they stoop, to like fome mortal fair,

Such words, fuch odes as thine they use,

With fuch foft ftrains, love into her heart infufe. Thy love is on the top, if not above mortality; Clean, and from corruption free,

Such as affections in eternity fhall be ;

Which fhall remain unspotted there,
Only to fhew what once they were:
Thy Cupid's fhafts all golden are ;

Thy Venus has the falt, but not the froth o' th' fea.
XI.

Thy high Pindarics foar

So high, where never any wing till now could get;

And

And yet thy wit

Doth feem fo great, as thofe that do fly lower.
Thou ftand'ft on Pindar's back;

And therefore thou a higher flight dost take:
Only thou art the eagle, he the wren,

Thou haft brought him from the duft,

And made him live again.

Pindar has left his barbarous Greece, and thinks it just To be led by thee to the English shore;

An honour to him: Alexander did no more,

Nor fcarce fo much, when he did fave his houfe before, When his word did affuage

A warlike army's violent rage:

Thou haft given to his name,

Than that great conqueror fav'd him from, a brighter flame.

He only left fome walls where Pindar's name might stay, Which with time and age decay :

But thou haft made him once again to live;

Thou didst to him new life and breathing give.
And as in the laft refurrection,

Thou haft made him rife more glorious, and put on
More majefty; a greater foul is given to him, by you,

Than ever he in happy Thebes or Greece could fhew.

XII.

Thy David too--

But hold thy headlong pace, my Mufe ;

None but the priest himself doth use
Into the holiest place to go.
P

Check

Whilst yet none of the lamps of heaven might
Call this their own, and that another's light.
So glorious a lump as thine,

Which chemistry may separate, but not refine :
So mixt, fo pure, fo united does it shine,
A chain of fand, of which each link is all divine.

X.

Thy Mistress shews, that Cupid is not always blind, Where we a pure exalted Mufe do find, Such as may well become a glorified mind.

Such fongs tune angels when they love,

And do make courtship to some sister-mind above (For angels need not fcorn fuch foft defires, Seeing thy heart is touch'd with the fame fires). So when they clothe themselves in flesh, And their light in fome human shapes do drefs (For which they fetch'd ftuff from the neighbouring air): So when they stoop, to like fome mortal fair,

Such words, fuch odes as thine they use,

With fuch soft strains, love into her heart infufe. Thy love is on the top, if not above mortality; Clean, and from corruption free,

Such as affections in eternity fhall be ;

Which shall remain unspotted there,

Only to fhew what once they were:
Thy Cupid's fhafts all golden are;

Thy Venus has the falt, but not the froth o' th' fea.
XI.

Thy high Pindarics foar

So high, where never any wing till now could get ;

And