Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EPISTLE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sir, when your known hand, and style, and name
Last Line: That ever curate did befall.


SIR,

WHEN your known hand, and style, and name
Into the camp of Wanton came;
And that the Greeks with one consent
Had read the lines which Troy had sent,
They all agreed, the Oracle
Was only wise enough to tell
What bold pen should the answer make
And danger, mixt with honour, take:
The Delphic messengers relate
That Mason is the choice of fate,
And though most Greeks could better wield
A sword than he, yet for a shield,
Ajax himself must give him place,
And therefore fittest in this case.
But, sir, alas! whilst harmless I
Thought to fulfil this destiny,
A nearer fate which none could dread,
Nor yet foresee, hangs o'er my head.
That idle book which I of late
Read with some fear, but with more hate,
(Yet not suspecting that in time
The reading it would grow a crime)
Since proves a libel; and all eyes
That have but seen it, at th' assize
Must answer make. -- Sir, I protest
Most fearfully this is no jest:
But, sir, the way to this assize
By Wells first, and the Bishop lies,
Who sends for all, whom any fame
Accuses, (and' mongst them my name)
That they have once but cast a look
Upon this guilty-making book.
Ned Drew hath his appearance sworn
And for that paid a full half-crown:
Sir, I should less fear this ill day,
If that his Lordship would not stray
From that one point, but what man knows
Whether he may not list to pose,
And overthrow a life divine,
Show his own learning, or try mine?
If in a wanton strength, I say,
He should but offer at that play,
The Tower of Pitcombe then would quake,
The yew tree all her leaves would shake.
Sir, I too long have tir'd your ears
With the harsh jars of my own fears,
I fear no one thing now, but all
That ever curate did befall.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net