Classic Poem

F ARRE FROM THE C ITTIES Strife ; as far from fame,
I wish, to keepe my name;
Careles of popular vote, or vaine Applause
To mine, though for Just Cause;
Let the bright Inke, which Phebus doth distill,
Through everie Noble Quill,
Run in a Clearer path. Had I bene borne
Below my fate, the Scorne
Of other Men; and had noe more extract
Then what my selfe could Act;
Yet in this obscure fortune, had I ben
Capable of a Pen,
I would have Squared a way, for my owne verse,
As void of vulgar fears,
As overborn by Selfe opinion.
I would have made my owne
Judgment an Equall Arbiter, to Define
The worth of everie Line;
And let Fastidious Censures of the Times
Guild loose and borrowed Rhimes;
Such, who or want, or what they have, betray
To the most Sordid way
Of Ignorance; such as affect the vote
Of Stentor-follies Throte;
Or ravil out the Loome, of all their witt
To play Court-Parasit':
These waies I hate, and Scorne; if what I penn'd
Fell to soe base an End,
My guiltye Quill would splitt; my Inke would rise
Into my face, and Eyes;
Judge Great Apollo! if I have done ought
With a presumptuous Thought
That any name, could make my numbers flye,
Beyond their Poesie.
To noe Collossus, could I ever bend;
Or at the Court attend
With my owne Sin, and Follie in a Sheet;
To prostrate, at the feet
Of painted greatnes. Not a Lord, one drop
Of my Just Inke, shall hope
Beyond his Merit; I dare not abuse
Soe much, my freeborne Muse,
But utter Truth; it is not in their Fate
To raise, nor Terminate
A true Composure. Wee admire the Good
Without Alloy of Blood,
And Justly praise them, beyond all the Date
Of Brass, or marble State.
Wee adde to them, if Either, and doe give
Their Vertues breath, to live
In Mention; and the honour of one Name
Shall nere be old, with Fame.
But tis Enough; I hate a Servitude
Either to Might, or to the Multitude.