Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO THE YOUNG AUTHOR UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE VEIN IN SATIRE AND SONNETS, by HENRY MORE Poet's Biography First Line: Young monster! Born with teeth, that thus canst bite Last Line: Thy paws be grown, who'll dare to touch thee then? Subject(s): Hall, John (1627-1656) | ||||||||
YOUNG monster! born with teeth, that thus canst bite So deep, canst wound all sorts at ten and eight: Fierce Scythian brat! Young Tamerlane! the Gods' Great scourge! that kick'st all men like skulls and clods; Rough creature! born for terror; whose stern look, Few strings and muscles mov'd, is a whole book Of biting satires; who did thee beget? Or with what pictures was the curtains set? John of the Wilderness? the hairy child? The hispid Thisbite? or what Satyr wild, That thou thus satirisest? Storm of wit, That fall'st on all thou meetst, and all dost meet! Singest like lightening the reverend fur Of ancient sages; mak'st a fearful stir With my young master and his pedagogue, And pullst by th' ears the lad's beloved dog. Then hast thy finger in potato pies, That make the dull grammarian to rise; Anon advancing thy satiric flail, Sweepst down the wine-glasses and cups of ale; Nor yet art spent; thy manly rage affords New coil against young wenches and old words, 'Gainst Jos. and Tycho that slings down the spheres; Like Will with th' wisp sit'st on moist asses' ears; And now stept in, most quick and dexterous, Boldly by th' elbow jogg'st Maurolycus, Causing him in his curious numberings lose Himself; tak'st Galileo by the nose; Another stroke makes the dry bones (O Sin!) Of lean Geometry rattle in her skin; New rage transforms thee to a pig, that roots In Jury-land, or crumps Arabic roots; Or else made corn-cutter, thou loutest low, And tak'st old Madam Eva by the toe. Anon thy officious fancy, at random sent, Becomes a chamberlain, waits on Wood of Kent, -- Sir, much good do't you, -- then the table throws Into his mouth his stomach's mouth to close; Another while the well-drench'd smoky Jew, That stands in his own spaul above the shoe, She twitcheth by the cloak, and threadbare plush, Nor beats his moist black beard into a blush! Mad soul! tyrannic wit! that thus dost scourge All mortals, and with their own follies urge, Thou'rt young; therefore, as infant, innocent, Without regret of conscience all are rent By the rough knotted whip; but if such blows Thy younger years can give; when age bestows Much firmer strength, sure thy satiric rods May awe the heavens, and discipline the gods! And now, I ween, we wisely well have shown What hatred, wrath, and indignation Can do in thy great parts. How melting love, That other youthful heat, thou dost improve With fancies quaint, and gay expressions pat, More florid than a Lanspresado's hat; That province to some fresher pens we leave, Dear lad! and kindly now we take our leave. Only one word. Sith we so highly raise Thy watchful wit, take this compendious praise: -- Thy love and wrath seem equal good to me, For both thy wrath and love right satires be. Thus may we twitch thee now, young whelp! but when Thy paws be grown, who'll dare to touch thee then? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GENETHLIACON TO THE INFANT MUSE OF HIS DEAREST FRIEND by WILLIAM HARINGTON TO HIS ADMIRED FRIEND, MR. J. HALL by EDWARD HOLLAND TO THE GENIUS OF MR. JOHN HALL, ON HIS EXACT TRANSLATION OF HIEROCLES by RICHARD LOVELACE TO THE NO LESS KNOWING THAN INGENIOUS MR. HALL, ON HIS .. DETRACTORS by J. PAWSON TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, MR. J.H. by T. SMITHSBY ON MR. HALL'S ESSAYS by THOMAS STANLEY TO THE HONOURED AUTHOR, MR. HALL, ON HIS POEMS by JAMES WINDET |
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