io;

Miscellaneous Poems.

Ecchoes at best ; all we can fay is vain,

Dull the Design, and. fruitless were the Pain.

’Tis true, the Antients we may rob with Ease ;

But who with that fad Shift himself can please?Without an Actor’s Pride, a Player’s ArtIs above his who writes a bo;row’d Part.

Yet modern Laws are made for later Faults,

And new Absurdities inspire new Thoughts.

What Need has Satyr, then, to live on Theft,

When so much fresh Occasion still is left ?

Fertile our Soil, and full of rankest Weeds,

And Monsters worse than ever Kilns breeds.

But hold, the.Fools shall have no Cause to fear;

’Tis Wit and Sense that is the Subject here. .

Defects of witty Men deserve a Cure,

And those who are so, will e’en this endure.

First then of S o s c s, which now so much abound,Without his Song no Fop is to be found ;

A most offensive Weapon, which he drawsOn all he meets, against Apollo % Laws.

1'ho’ nothing seems more ealy, yet no PartOf Poely requires a nicer Art;

For as in Rows of richest Pearl there liesMany a Blemtssi that escapes our Eyes,

The least of which Defects is plainly shownIn some small Ring, and brings the Value down : :

So Songs shall be to just Perfection wrought ;

Yet where can we see one without a Fault ?

Exact Propriety of Words and Thought,

Expression easy, and the Fancy high,

Yet that not seem to creep, nor this to fly ;

No Words tranfpos’d, but in such Order all,

As, tho-hard .wrought, may seem by Chance to fall. .Here, as in all Things else, is most unfitBare Ribaldry, that -poor Pretence to Wit;

Such nauseous Songs by a late Author made,

Call an unwilling Censure on his Shade.

Not that warm Thoughts of the transporting Joy, .

Can shock the Chastest, or the Nicest cloy ,; But