Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A53525
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The poet's complaint of his muse, or, A satyr against libells a poem / by Thomas Otway.
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Otway, Thomas, 1652-1685.
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1680
(1680)
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Wing O556; ESTC R21975
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11,145
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28
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THE POET'S Complaint of his Muse OR A SATYR Against LIBELLS A Poem By Thomas Otway Si quid habent veri vatum praesagia vivam LONDON Printed for Thomas Norman at the Pope's Head in Fleetstreet near Salisbury-Court 1680. TO The Right Honourable THOMAS Earl of Ossory BARON of MOOR-PARKE Knight of the most noble Order of the GARTER c. My LORD THough never any man had more need of excuse for a presumption of this nature then I have now yet when I have laid out every way to find one your Lordships goodness must be my best refuge and therefore I humbly cast this at your feet for protection and my self for pardon My Lord I have great need of protection for to the best of my heart I have here published in some measure the truth and I would have it thought honestly too a practice never more out of countenance then now yet Truth and Honour are things your Lordship must needs be kind to because they are Relations to your nature and never left you 'T would be a second presumption in me to pretend in this a Panegyrick on your Lordship for it would require more art to doe your Vertue justice then to slatter any other man If I have ventured at a hint of the present sufferings of that great Prince mentioned in the latter end of this paper with favour from your Lordship I hope to add a second part and doe all those Great and Good men Justice that have in his Calamities stuck fast to so gallant a Friend and so good a Master To write and finish which great Subject faithfully and to be honoured with your Lordships patronage in what I may do and your aprobation or at least pardon in what I have done will be the greatest pride of My Lord Your most humble Admirer and Servant Thomas Otway THE POET'S Complaint of his Muse OR A SATYR Against LIBELLS ODE TO a high Hill where never yet stood Tree Where onely Heath course Fern and Furzes grow Where nipt by piercing Air The Flocks in tatter'd Fleeces hardly graze Led by uncouth Thoughts and Care Which did too much his pensive mind amaze A wandring Bard whose Muse was crazy grown Cloy'd with the nauseous Follies of the buzzing Town Came lookt about him sigh'd and laid him down 'T was far from any Path but where the Earth Was bare and naked all as at her Birth When by the Word it first was made Er'e God had said Let Grass and Herbs and every green thing grow With fruitfull Trees after their kind and it was so The whistling Winds blew fiercely round his Head Cold was his Lodging hard his Bed Aloft his Eyes on the wide Heav'ns he cast Where we are told Peace onely's found at last And as he did its hopeless distance see Sigh'd deep and cri'd How far is Peace from me 2. Nor ended there his Moan The distance of his future Joy Had been enough to give him Pain alone But who can undergo Despair of Ease to come with weight of present Woe Down his afflicted Face The trickling Tears had stream'd so fast a pace As left a path worn by their briny race Swoln was his Breast with Sighs his well Proportion'd Lims as useless fell Whilst the poor Trunk unable to sustain It self lay rackt and shaking with its Pain I heard his Groans as I was walking by And urg'd by pity went aside to see What the sad cause could be Had press'd his State so low and rais'd his Plaints so high On me he sixt his Eyes I crav'd Why so forlorn He vainly rav'd Peace to his mind I did commend But oh my words were hardly at an end When I perceiv'd it was my Friend My much-lov'd Friend so down I fate And begg'd that I might share his Fate I lay'd my Cheek to his when with a Gale Of Sighs he eas'd his Breast and thus began his Tale. 3. I am a Wretch of honest Race My Parents not obscure nor high in Titles were They left me Heir to no Disgrace My Father was a thing now rare Loyall and brave my Mother chast and fair Their pledge of Marriage-vows was onely I Alone I liv'd their much-lov'd fondled Boy They gave me generous Education high They strove to raise my Mind and with it grew their Joy The Sages that instructed me in Arts And Knowledge oft would praise my Parts And chear my Parents longing hearts When I was call'd to a Dispute My fellow-Pupills oft stood mute Yet never Envy did disjoin Their hearts from me nor Pride distemper mine Thus my first years in Happiness I past Nor any bitter cup did tast But oh a deadly Potion came at last As I lay loosely on my bed A thousand pleasant Thoughts triumphing in my Head And as my Sense on the rich Banquet fed A Voice it seem'd no more so busy I Was with my self I saw not who was nigh Pierc'd through my Ears Arise thy good Senander's dead It shook my Brain and from their Feast my frighted Senses fled 4. From thence sad Discontent uneasy Fears And anxious Doubts of what I had to do Grew with succeeding Years The World was wide but whither should I go I whose blooming Hopes all wither'd were who 'd little Fortune and a deal of Care To Britain's great Metropolis I stray'd Where Fortune's generall Game is play'd Where Honesty and Wit are often prais'd But Fools and Knaves are fortunate and rais'd My forward Spirit prompted me to find A Converse equall to my Mind But by raw Judgement easily miss-led As giddy callow Boys Are very fond of Toys I mist the brave and wise and in their stead On every sort of Vanity I fed Gay Coxcombs Cowards Knaves and prating Fools Bullies of o're-grown Bulks and little Souls Gamesters Half-wits and Spendthrifts such as think Mischievous midnight Frollicks bred by Drink Are Gallantry and Wit Because to their lewd Understandings fit Were those wherewith two years at least I spent To all their fulsome Follies most incorrigibly bent Till at the last my self more to abuse I grew in love with a deceitfull Muse. 5. No fair Deceiver ever us'd such Charms T' ensnare a tender Youth and win his Heart Or when she had him in her Arms Secur'd his love with greater Art I fansy'd or I dream'd as Poets always do No Beauty with my Muse's might compare Lofty she seem'd and on her Front sate a majestick Ayr Awfull yet kind severe yet fair Upon her Head a Crown she bore Of Laurell which she told me should be mine And round her Ivory Neck she wore A Rope of largest Pearl Each part of her did shine With Jewells and with Gold Numbeâ—lâ—sâ— to be told Which in Imagination as I did behold And lov'd and wonder'd more and more Said she These Riches all my Darling shall be thine Riches which never Poet had before She promis'd me to raise my fortune and my name By Royall Favour and by endless Fame But never told How hard they were