Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AD PARONEM, by HENRY MORE



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AD PARONEM, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Right well I wot, my rhymes seem rudely drest
Last Line: Thou art rash and rude how ere my rhymes are rough.


Right well I wot, my rhymes seem rudely drest
In the nice judgement of thy shallow mind
That mark'st expressions more then what's exprest,
Busily billing the rough outward rinde,
But reaching not the pith. Such surface skill's
Unmeet to measure the profounder quill.

Yea I alas! my self too often feel
Thy indispos' dnesse; when my weakened soul
Unstedfast, into this Outworld doth reel,
And lyes immerse in my low vitall mold.
For then my mind, from th'inward spright estrang'd,
My Muse into an uncouth hew hath chang'd.

A rude confused heap of ashes dead
My verses seem, when that caelestiall flame
That sacred spirit of life's extinguished
In my cold brest. Then gin I rashly blame
My rugged lines: This word is obsolete;
That boldly coynd, a third too oft doth beat

Mine humourous ears. Thus fondly curious
Is the faint Reader, that doth want that fire
And inward vigour heavenly furious
That made my enrag'd spirit in strong desire
Break through such tender cob-web niceties,
That oft intangle these blind buzzing flies.

Possest with living sense I inly rave,
Carelesse how outward words do from me flow,
So be the image of my mind they have
Truly exprest, and do my visage show;
As doth each river deckt with Phebus beams
Fairly reflect the viewer of his streams.

Who can discern the Moons asperity
From of this earth, or could this earths discover
If from the earth he raised were on high
Among the starrs and in the sky did hover?
The Hills and Valleyes would together flow
And the rough Earth, one smooth-fac'd Round would show.

Nor can the lofty soul snatch'd into Heven
Busied above in th'Intellectuall world
At such a distance see my lines uneven,
At such a distance was my spirit hurld,
And to my trembling quill thence did endite,
What he from thence must reade, who would read right.

Fair Fields and rich Enclosures, shady Woods,
Large populous Towns, with strong and stately Towers,
Long crawling Rivers, far distended Flouds,
What ever's great, its shape these eyes of ours
And due proportions from high distance see
The best; And Paro! such my Rhyme's to thee.

Thy groveling mind and moping poreblind eye,
That to move up unmeet, this to see farre,
The worth or weaknesse never can descry
Of my large winged Muse. But not to spare
Till thou canst well disprove, proves well enough
Thou art rash and rude how ere my rhymes are rough.





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