Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HUDIBRAS AND MILTON RECONCILED; TO SIR ADOLPHUS OUGHTON, by WILLIAM SOMERVILE



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HUDIBRAS AND MILTON RECONCILED; TO SIR ADOLPHUS OUGHTON, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Dear knight, how great a drudge is he / who would excel in poetry
Last Line: Let a great f—t, and went to bed.
Alternate Author Name(s): Somerville, William
Subject(s): Milton, John (1608-1674)


DEAR Knight, how great a drudge is he
Who would excel in poetry!
And yet how few have learnt the art
To inform the head, or touch the heart!
Some, with a dry and barren brain,
Poor rogues! like costive lapdogs strain;
While others with a flux of wit,
The reader and their friends besh–t.
Would you (Sir Knight) my judgement know?
He still writes worst who writes so-so,
In this the mighty secret lies:
To elevate, and to surprise.
Thus far my pen at random run;
The fire was out, the clock struck one.

When lo! strange hollow murmurs from without
Invade my ears. In ev'ry quarter roused,
The warring winds rush from their rocky caves
Tumultuous; the vapours dank or dry,
Beneath their standards ranged, with low'ring front
Darken the welkin. At each dreadful shock
Oaks, pines and elms down to their mother earth
Bend low their suppliant heads. The nodding tow'rs
Menace destruction, and old Edrick's house
From its foundation shakes. The bellying clouds
Burst into rain, or gild their sable skirts
With flakes of ruddy fire; fierce elements
In ruin reconciled! redoubled peals
Of ceaseless thunder roar. Convulsions rend
The firmament. The whole creation stands
Mute and appalled, and trembling waits its doom.

And now perhaps (dear friend) you wonder,
In this dread scene of wind, rain, thunder,
What a poor guilty wretch could do.
Then hear (for, faith, I tell you true),
I pissed, thrice shook my giddy head,
Let a great f—t, and went to bed.





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