Selected quad for the lemma: love_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A53525
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The poet's complaint of his muse, or, A satyr against libells a poem / by Thomas Otway.
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Otway, Thomas, 1652-1685.
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1680
(1680)
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Wing O556; ESTC R21975
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11,145
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28
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to get and difficult to hold Thus by the Arts of this most sly Deluder was I caught To her bewitching Bondage brought Eternall Constancy we swore A thousand times our Vows were doubled o're And as we did in our Entrancements lie I thought no Pleasure e're was wrought so high No Pair so happy as my Muse and I. 6. Ne'r was young Lover half so fond When first his Pusillage he lost Or could of half my Pleasure boast We never met but we enjoy'd Still transported never cloy'd Chambers Closets Fields and Groves Bore witness of our daily Loves And on the bark of every Tree You might the Marks of our Endearments see Distichs Posies and the pointed Bits Of Satyr written when a Poet meets His Muse in Catterwauling fits You might on every Rinde behold and swear I and my Clio had been at it there Nay by my Muse too I was blest With Off-springs of the choicest kinds Such as have pleas'd the noblest minds And been approv'd by Judgements of the best But in this most transporting height Whence I lookt down and laught at Fate All of a sudden I was alter'd grown I round me lookt and found my self alone My faithless Muse my faithless Muse was gone I try'd if I a Verse could frame Oft I in vain invok'd my Clio's name The more I strove the more I fail'd I chaf'd I bit my Pen curst my dull Scull and rail'd Resolv'd to force m'untoward Thought and at the last prevail'd A Line came forth but such a one No trav'ling Matron in her Child-birth pains Full of the joyfull Hopes to bear a Son Was more astonisht at th' unlookt-for shape Of some deform'd Baboon or Ape Then I was at the hideous Issue of my Brains I tore my Paper stabb'd my Pen And swore I 'd never write agen Resolv'd to be a doating Fool no more But when my reck'ning I began to make I found too long I 'd slept and was too late awake I found m'ungratefull Muse for whose false sake I did my self undo Had robb'd me of my dearest Store My precious Time my Friends and Reputation too And left me helpless friendless very proud and poor 7. Reason which in base Bonds my Folly had enthrall'd I strait to Council call'd Like some old faithfull Friend whom long ago I had casheer'd to please my flatt'ring Fair. To me with readiness he did repair Exprest much tender chearfulness to find Experience had restor'd him to my Mind And loyally did to me show How much himself he did abuse Who credited a flattering false destructive treacherous Muse. I askt the causes why He said 'T was never known a Muse e're staid When Fortune fled for Fortune is a Bawd To all the Nine that on Parnassus dwell Where those so fam'd delightfull Fountains swell Of Poetry which there does ever flow And where Wit 's lusty shining God Keeps his choice Seraglio So whilst our Fortune smiles our Thoughts aspire Pleasure and Fame 's our bus'ness and desire Then too if we find A promptness in the Mind The Muse is always ready always kind But if th' old Harlot Fortune once denies Her favour all our Pleasure and rich Fancy dies And then th'yong slippery Jilt the Muse too from us flies 8. To the whole Tale I gave Attention due And as right search into my self I made I found all he had said Was very honest very true Oh how I hugg'd my welcom Friend And much my Muse I could not discommend For I ne'r liv'd in Fortune's grace She always turn'd her Back and fled from me apace And never once vouchsaf'd to let me see her Face Then to confirm me more He drew the veil of Dotage from my eyes See here my Son said he the valu'd Prize Thy fulsome Muse behold be happy and be wise I lookt and saw the rampant tawdry Quean With a more horrid Train Then ever yet to Satyr lent a Tale Or haunted Chloris in the Mall The first was he who stunk of that rank Verse In which he wrote his Sodom Farce A Wretch whom old Diseases did so bite That he writ Bawdry sure in spight To ruin and disgrace it quite Philosophers of old did so express Their Art and shew'd it in their Nastiness Next him appear'd that blundring Sot Who a late Session of the Poets wrote Nature has markt him for a heavy Fool By 's flat broad Face you 'l know the Owl The other Birds have hooted him from light Much buffeting has made him love the Night And onely in the dark he strays Still Wretch enough to live with worse Fools spends his days And for old Shoes and Scraps repeats dull Plays Then next there follow'd to make up the Throng Lord Lampoon and Monsieur Song Who sought her love and promis'd for 't To make her famous at the Court The City Poet too was there In a black Sattin Cap and his own Hair And begg'd that he might have the Honour To beget a Pageant on her For the City's next Lord Mayor Her Favours she to none deny'd They took her all by turns aside Till at the last up in the rear there came The Poets Scandall and the Muses Shame A Beast of Monstrous guise and LIBELL was his name But let me pause for 't will ask time to tell How he was born how bred and where and where he now does dwell 9. He paus'd and thus renew'd his Tale. Down in an obscure Vale ' Midst Fogs and Fens whence Mists and Vapours rise Where never Sun was seen by eyes Under a desart Wood Which no man own'd but all wild Beasts were bred And kept their horrid Dens by prey far forrag'd fed An ill-pil'd Cottage stood Built of mens Bones slaughter'd in Civill War By Magick Art brought thither from a far There liv'd a widow'd Witch That us'd to mumble Curses eve and morn Like one whom Wants and Care had worn Meagre her Looks and sunk her Eyes Yet Mischiefs study'd Discords did devise Sh' appeared humble but it was her Pride Slow in her Speech in semblance sanctifi'd Still when she spoke she meant another way And when she curst she seem'd to pray Her hellish Charms had all a holy dress And bore the name of Godliness All her Familiars seem'd the Sons of Peace Honest habits they all wore In outward show most lamb-like and divine But inward of all Vices they had store Greedy as Wolves and sensuall too as Swine Like Her the Sacred Scriptures They had all by heart Most easily could quote and turn to any part Backward repeat it all as Witches Prayers do And for their turn interpret backward too Idolatry with Her was held impure Because besides Her self no Idol she 'd endure Though not to paint sh 'ad arts to change the Face And alter it in Heav'nly fashion Lewd Whining she desin'd a mark of Grace And making Ugly faces was Mortification Her late dead Pander was of well-known fame Old Preshyter Rebellion was his name She a sworn Foe to KING