108 Miscellaneous Poems.

But Words obscene, too gross to move Desire,

Like Heaps of Fuel, do but choak the Fire,

On other Themes he well deserves our Praise,

Here palls that Appetite he meant to raise.

Next Elegy, of sweet but solemn Voice,

And of a Subject grave, exacts the Choice ;

The Praise of Beauty, Valour, Wit, contains ;

And there too oft despairing Love complains,in vain, alas! for-who, by Wit, is mov’d ?

The Phœnix She deserves to be belov’d.

But noisy Nonsense, and such Fops as vexMankind, take most with that fantastic Sex.

This to the Praise of those who better knew.

The Many raise the Value of the Few.

But here, as all our Sex too oft have try’d,

Women have. drawn my wand’ring Thoughts aside.Thek greatest Fault, who in this Kind have writ,

Is not defect in Words, nor Want of Wit:

But Ihould this Muse harmonious Numbers yield,

And ev’ry Couplet be with Fancy fill’d,

If yet a just Coherence be not made,

Between each Thought, and the whole Model laidSo right that ev’ry Step may higher rife,

Like Goodly Mountains, ’till they reach the Skies :Trifles, like such perhaps of late have past,

And may. be lik’d awhile, but never last.

'Tis Epigram, ’tis Point, ’tis what you will: ~7

But not an Elegy, nor writ with Skill; >

No § Panegyric,, nor a jj Cooper s-Hill. J-

A higher Flight,., and of a happier Force,

Are Odes, the Muses most unruly HorseThat bounds so fierce, the Rider has no Rest,

But foams at Mouth, and moves like one possest.

The Poet here must be indeed infpir’dWith Fury too, as well as Fancy fir’d.

C o w l e v

§ Waller,

|| Denham.