Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES OF MY LORD BROGHILL'S, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


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ODE UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES OF MY LORD BROGHILL'S, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Be gon (said I) ingrateful muse, and see
Last Line: The bright idea there, of the great writer's mind?
Subject(s): Boyle, Roger. Baron Broghill (1621-1679)


1.

BE gon (said I) Ingrateful Muse, and see
What others thou can'st fool as well as me.
Since I grew Man, and wiser ought to be,
My Business and my Hopes I left for thee:
For thee (which was more hardly given away)
I left, even when a Boy, my Play.
But say, Ingrateful Mistress, say,
What, for all this, what didst Thou ever pay?
Thou'lt say, Perhaps, that riches are
Not of the growth of Lands, where thou dost Trade,
And I, as well my Country might upbraid
Because I have no Vineyard there.
Well: But in Love, thou dost pretend to Reign,
There thine the power and Lordship is,
Thou bad'st me write, and write, and write again;
'Twas such a way as could not miss.
I like a Fool, did thee Obey,
I wrote, and wrote, but still I wrote in vain,
For after all my expense of Wit and Pain,
A rich, unwriting Hand, carry'd the Prize away.

2.

Thus I complain'd, and straight the Muse reply'd,
That she had given me Fame.
Bounty Immense! And that too must be try'd,
When I my self am nothing but a name.
Who now, what Reader does not strive
T' invalidate the gift whilst w' are alive?
For when a Poet now himself doth show,
As if he were a common Foe,
All draw upon him, all around,
And ev'ry part of him they wound,
Happy the Man that gives the deepest Blow:
And this is all, kind Muse, to thee we owe.
Then in a Rage I took
And out at Window threw
Ovid and Horace, all the chiming Crew:
Homer himself went with them too,
Hardly escap'd the Sacred Mantuan Book:
I my own Off-spring, like Agave, tore,
And I resolv'd, nay, and I think, I swore,
That I no more the Ground would Till and Sow,
Where only flowry Weeds instead of Corn did grow.

3.

When (see the subtil wayes which Fate does find,
Rebellious man to binde,
Just to the work for which he is assign'd)
The Muse came in more chearful than before,
And bad me quarrel with her now no more,
Loe thy reward! look here and see,
What I have made (said she)
My Lover, and belov'd, my Broghill do for thee.
Though thy own verse no lasting fame can give,
Thou shalt at least in his for ever live.
What Criticks, the great Hectors now in Wit,
Who Rant and Challenge all Men that have writ,
Will dare t' oppose thee, when
Broghill in thy defence, has drawn his conqu'ring Pen?
I rose and bow'd my head,
And pardon ask'd for all that I had said;
Well-satisfi'd and proud,
I straight resolv'd, and solemnly I vow'd,
That from her service now I ne'r would part,
So strongly, large Rewards work on a grateful Heart.

4.

Nothing so soon the Drooping Spirits can raise,
As Praises from the Men, whom all men praise.
'Tis the best Cordial, and which only those
Who have at home th' Ingredients, can compose;
A Cordial, that restores our fainting Breath,
And keeps up Life even after Death;
The onely danger is, lest it should be
Too strong a remedie:
Lest, in removing cold, it should beget
Too violent a heat,
And into madness turn the Lethargie.
Ah! Gracious God! that I might see
A time when it were Dangerous for me
To be o're-heat with Praise!
But I within me bear (alas) too great allayes.

5.

'Tis said, Apelles, when he Venus drew,
Did naked Women for his Pattern view,
And with his powerful fancy did refine
Their humane shapes into a form Divine;
None who had set could her own Picture see,
Or say, One part was drawn for me;
So, though this nobler Painter when he writ,
Was pleas'd to think it fit,
That my Book should before him sit,
Not as a cause, but an occasion to his wit:
Yet what have I to boast, or to apply
To my advantage out of it, since I,
Instead of my own Likeness, onely find
The Bright Idea there, of the great Writer's mind?





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