Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A POETICALL REVENGE, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


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A POETICALL REVENGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Westminster-hall a friend and I agreed
Last Line: Spleene, and another ignoramus make.


WEstminster-Hall a friend and I agreed
To meet in; hee (some busines 'twas did breed
His absence) came not there; I up did goe,
To the next Court; for though I could not know
Much what they ment, yet I might see and heare
(As most spectators doe at Theater)
Things very strange; Fortune did seeme to grace
My coming there, and helpt me to a place.
But being newly setled at the sport,
A Semy-gentleman of th' Innes of Court
In a Sattin suite, redeem'd but yesterday;
One who is ravish't with a Cockpit play,
Who prayes God to deliver him from no evill
Besides a Taylor's bill, and feares no Devill
Besides a Serjeant, thrust mee from my seate;
At which I gan to quarrell, till a neate
Man in a ruffe, (whome therefore I did take
For Barrister) open'd his mouth and spake,
Boy get you gon, this is no schoole; Oh no:
For if it were, all you gown'd men would goe
Vp for false Lattin: they grew straight to bee
Incenst, I feard they would have brought on mee
An Action of Trespasse, till th' young man
Aforesaid in the Sattin suite, began
To strike mee; doubtlesse there had beene a fray,
Had not I providently skipp'd away
Without replying; for to scould is ill
Where every tongue's the clapper of a Mill,
And can outsound Homer's Gradivus; so
Away got I: but ere I farre did goe,
I flung (the Darts of wounding Poetrie)
These two or three sharpe curses backe; may hee
Bee by his Father in his study tooke
At Shakespeare's Playes, instead of my L. Cooke.
May hee (though all his writings grow as soone
As Butters' out of estimation)
Get him a Poet's name, and so nere come
Into a Sergeant's, or dead Iudge's roome.
May he (for 'tis sinne in a Lawyer)
True Latin use to speake, even at the Barre;
May he become some poore Physitian's prey,
Who keepes men with that conscience in delay
As he his Clyents doth, till his health bee
As farre-fetch'd as a Greeke Nowne's pedigree,
Nay, for all that, may the disease bee gone
Never but in the long Vacation.
May Neighbours use all quarrels to decide;
But if for Law any to London ride,
Of all those Clyents may no one be his,
Vnlesse he come in Forma Pauperis.
Grant this you Gods, that favour Poetry,
That so at last these ceaselesse tongues may be
Brought into reformation, and not dare
To quarrell with a threadbare black, but spare
Them who beare Schollers' names, lest some one take
Spleene, and another Ignoramus make.





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