The Muse should be sprightly, Yet not handling lightly Things grave; as much loath, Things that be slight, to cloath Curiously: To retayne The Comelinesse in meane, Is true Knowledge and Wit. Nor me forc'd Rage doth fit, That I thereto should lacke Tabacco, or need Sacke, Which to the colder Braine Is the true @3Hyppocrene@1; Nor did I ever care For great Fooles, nor them spare. Vertue, though neglected, Is not so dejected, As vilely to descend To low Basenesse their end; Neyther each ryming Slave Deserves the Name to have Of Poet: so the Rabble Of Fooles, for the Table, That have their Jests by Heart, As an Actor his Part, Might assume them Chayres Amongst the Muses Heyres. @3Parnassus@1 is not clome By every such Mome; Up whose steepe side who swerves, It behoves t'have strong Nerves: My Resolution such, How well, and not how much To write, thus doe I fare, Like some few good that care (The evill sort among) How well to live, and not how long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY LOVE'S GUARDIAN ANGEL by WILLIAM BARNES THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE by EUGENE FIELD ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS; SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME by JEAN INGELOW THE FLATTERERS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TO SARAH TAYLOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VERSES, SUGGESTED BY THE FUNERAL OF AN EPITAPH IN BURY CHURCH-YARD by BERNARD BARTON |