Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. THOMAS FLATMAN, UPON PUBLISHING OF HIS POEMS, by FRANCIS KNOLLYS



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TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. THOMAS FLATMAN, UPON PUBLISHING OF HIS POEMS, by            
First Line: Rude and unpolish'd as my lines can be
Last Line: Tis 'cause his stomach's vicious, not the food.
Subject(s): Flatman, Thomas (1637-1688)


RUDE and unpolish'd as my lines can be,
I must start forth into the world with thee.
That which, yet private, did my wonder raise,
Now 'tis made public challenges my praise:
Such miracles thy charming verse can do,
Where'er it goes, it draws me with it too.
This is a kind of birthday to thy Muse!
Transported with delight I cannot choose
But bid her Welcome to the Light, and tell,
How much I value what is writ so well;
Tho' thou reap'st no advantage by my rhyme,
More than a taper helps the day to shine.
Thus in dull pomp does th' empty coach attend
To pay respect to some departed friend!
The difference of regard in this does lie,
That honours dust, mine that which cannot die:
For what can blast the labours of thy pen,
While wit and virtue are allow'd by men?
Thou entertain'st the world with such a feast,
So cleanly and so elegantly drest,
So stor'd with laudable varieties
As may a modest appetite suffice;
Whoever is thy guest is sure to find
Something or other that may please his mind.
Sometimes in pious flames thy Muse aspires
Her bosom warm'd with supernat'ral fires;
In noble flights with Pindar, soars above;
Dallies sometimes with not-indecent love,
Thence down into the grave does humbly creep,
And renders Death desirable as Sleep.
The debonair, the melancholy here
Find matter for their mirth, ease for their care.
Since such provision's made for all that come,
He must be squeamish that goes empty home;
If these refections cannot do him good,
'Tis 'cause his stomach's vicious, not the food.





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