Classic Poem

V ATES is preist & poet; both if Good
Are alike Scorn'd & alike vnderstood
I can deride the rig'rous doome of those
Who thinke all Christian writers are in Prose.
I floate at ease aboue those Flatts; & Keepe
My course to Scape the Dangers of the Deepe;
To D ORSETT Sound , my Vent'rous Vessell beares
Hir helme of Hope; but Laden full of feares.
I feare what most I covett to pertake;
And what my hart advances, makes it ake.
No title, blood, or place, or wealth, or might
Cou'd ever much attract, or much affright;
But where is spent, what Lauish virtue can
With Natures Bountie to make vp a man;
Such as sans fiction Homer might redresse
Melting his Iliads to his Odysses.
Whose browes Apollo bynds with Learned Bayes
And Hermes renders vp his Lyre, & Layes:
Who can rebuke my Genius to be checkt
With feare, in conscience of his owne defect
As who shall argue me a foole, to fix
An hope of Grace, where all the Graces mix!