Classic Poem

ODE III

1

Give me the Sober Muse, and Simple Thought,
To furnish out my Loome;
Let others come,
As they affect, in finer garments Clad:
Happilie farder fett, and dearer bought.
If I had sought such, Such I could have had
At the same rate:
But I decline that State:
Give me the Sober Muse, and Simple Thought.

2

Expect noe fine Thing here, noe gaudie knacke;
But Course and Common Things;
Our Larum rings,
Not to the giddie Eare, who seekes the Chime,
Of Scurril Language; or affects the Smacke
Of Brothel-feats laid Centinel in Rime,
How to betray
Soules to a Sad Decay;
Expect noe fine Thing here, noe gaudie knacke.

3

Oft have I bene deceived; but ofter you,
Whose Joy in fired blood
You make your good;
And pant, to see a Fancie Set to light
That may blow up old fire; or adde a new
Unmanlie itching, to the feeble Spright.
Let your thoughts move
To somewhat, worthie of your Love:
Oft have I bene deceived, but ofter you.

4

Repent it, ere too late; Repent in Time
The Error of your witt;
Thinke it unfitt
For high-borne man, soe poorlie to decline;
Scorne sordid Earth; and Joy in the Sublime
Raptures of Truth, clad in the liveing Shine
Of modest Fire;
And hate your old Desire:
Repent it ere too late; Repent in time.
5

Goe, learne the better Arts of Innocence;
Which will instruct you, how
To scorne what now
You sought with Eagernes; and to your Soule
Propose a richer prize, at lesse expence;
Where the true pleasure lives, without controule
Of Doubt, or Feare;
One other Step will bring you there:
Goe, learne the better Arts of Innocence;

6

Error has many waies, t'entrap a Soule;
A thousand more
Then wee Account her Store;
Changing to everie Sence, with what they please,
Now Light, now fixed; Sometime seeming foule
Unto the Sence; when She the Sence doth seize
With greater might,
And with as great Delight:
Error has many waies, t'entrap a Soule.

7

Depart, false seeming Joyes; fond mirth Depart;
Treachers of old;
Growne in our Age, more bold;
Light hopes, and feirce Affections quit the place;
Lay by your Tirant Scepter; for my heart
Is free to Truth, disdaining Servile waies
Of blinded Sence,
And Passions large pretence:
Depart, false seeming Joyes; fond mirth depart.

8

Am I not Sworne a Denizon to Truth?
A free Associate,
Within that State,
Where heaven-bred Peace is Queene? Onlie to her
I vow the remnant of my halfe-spent youth;
And never lend false Smiles, an Eye, nor Eare;
Noe more Suggest
Your pleasures, to my brest:
Am I not Sworne a Denizon to Truth?

9

Nere may my Thoughts Swerve, from their fixed home;
But here in Raptures dwell;
Which none can tell
Who, blind with Error, run in Sensuall waies;
And though the blood-fired Ruffian, rageing come,
With Scorne against my verse; and Spend his praise
In Balladrie,
Defending Luxurie:
Nere may my thoughts swerve, from their fixed home.

10

Just now he frownes, to Strike the Poet dead,
If Eyes could wound, or kill;
And calls them Ill,
The verses he has read; and Sweats, and Swears
A brain-sicke Frensie overburdened,
Has run a Larum, to abuse his Eares;
And bring a Cold
Ere years, to make him old:
Just now he frownes, to Strike the Poet dead.

11

Erect that drowsie head, and yet see Day;
See; the bright Skies
Would Shoot into thy Eyes,
With Glorie, to informe misguided Sence;
Yet be a Man; and heare what all men Say:
There is a way of Truth, and Excellence,
Where Joy and love,
Will teach the Soule, to move:
Erect that drousie head, and yet see Day.

12

Let others Sing of Love, and loose delights;
My sober Quill, has vowed
(Though understood
Perhaps by few) to use her Inke, in praise
Of glorious vertue; this, the irkesome nights
Shall melt; and be the labour of my Dayes;
This Sacred Straine,
My howers, shall entertaine:
Let others Sing of Love, and loose Delights.