Short Dull REMARKS, UPON THE Long Dull ESSAY UPON POETRY.  
LONDON: Printed by J. Grantham, for J. Walthoe, 1683.   

Short Dull REMARKS, UPON THE Long Dull ESSAY UPON POETRY.  

PArdon me Sacred God of Harmony,  
That my officious Pen dare strike at Thee;  
Tho' Satyrs in this Age so much abound,  
Few stoop to ask a Pardon where they wound.   

In the Worlds down, when Man by Nature taught,  
Resented Wrongs, they boldly  told, and fought;  
So Cain no Libel on his Brother threw,  
But spared the tender famed of him he slay.  
Scorn and malicious laughter had no name,  
Some kindly pardoned, bravely some o'recame.  
But when the Earth, beneath the Waters shrunk,  
Thou wanton God wert with the Deluge drunk;  
And then it was vile Laughter didst Inspire  
In satirists, who still profane thy Fire.  
In that same Age cursed Ham began to Mock,  
( That shameful off-spring of so Rich a stock)  
And since, most sing, to prove they're angry grown,  
The just Reverse of what should make it known.  
" And of this kind of Writing, none there are  
" Which can ith' least with the Essay compare.  
That Persian Muse which lately graced the Times,  
And taught the Sun's Eternity in rhymes,  
Who having  told us," It was too Profane  
" To grace the Vulgar with a Sacred Name,  
" Says, Number, rhyme, and that harmonious sound  
" Which never does the Ear with harshness wound,  

" Are Vulgar Arts; And if he prove it so,  
To that poetic Vulgar, I must Bow,  
For it is more than ever He could do.   
" No kind of work boasts of a Nicer touch,  
None Creeps so Feebly, and yet Grasps so much.  
(" To teach Mankind how 'tis they should Excel  
" In the chief Master-piece of Writing Well.)  
Almighty He! who only has the Skill  
Of Writng well, but often wants the Will;  
For when he had discrib'd that Glowing Heat,  
That something of Divine, and more than Wit,  
" He  told us, That to him it oft Return'd,  
(" Though he at Idle Hours its Absence mourned,)  
" With powerful Charms to hurry him away ▪  
" From Pleasures of the Night, and business of the Day.  
But much I fear that Fury in his Brain,  
To others, seems the Feather of the Pen:  
" Which yet he proves of Wit a Mighty Part,  
" Telling us how that Feather wins the Heart.  
I would return; Those Lines to him are meant,  
Where 'gainst the Court he vents his Discontent;  
Saying," Whitehall has nothing now to fear,  
" 'Tis Wit and Sense that is the Subject here.  
( But when he did these mighty things unsold,  
Where did the satire differ from the Scold?)  
But 'twere a Crime to say he could not reach  
At those great Mysteries he aims to teach:  

Tho' when he would the Secret plainly show  
He says;" To him alone the Lawrel's due,  
" Who can all Sciences exactly know,   
" Whose fancy Flies beyond weak Reason's sight,  
" And yet has judgement to direct us right;  
" Whose nice distinction( Virgil like) is such;  
" Never to say too little, nor too much.  

" Let such a Man begin without delay,  
By this time we are convinced, this is the way,  
" But he must do much more than I can say.   
In this last Line of his, we plainly find  
The gentle Author does not know his Mind;  
Whose single judgement bravely doth Condemn  
Authors, whom all approve, and all Esteem;  

Prodigious Confidence! to Storm alone  
With that Victorious Pen, Apollo's Throne,  
And from his side cast the great fav'rites down.   
But some he stoops to praise: amongst the rest,  
Virgil's the happy Man, who pleases best:  
Therefore his Praise of that gigantic Soul  
Strides o'er all Bounds as much without control  
As th' Authors Similes, which strangely hit,  
And by a Changeling proves great Virgill's Wit.  
So have I known bright day describe a Crime,  
And vast Eternity explained by Time.   

Great Johnson! Greater now since he will deign ▪  
T' allow thy head to grace an humble Sign;  
Methinks I hear that lifeless sign inspired  
With thy poetic Soul, Methinks 'tis fired  

In thine own words, and with a scornful Smile,  
Methinks it Cries," I would not bear the Toil  
" To think so long together, and so Vile.    

" But that these Base and Beggarly Conceits  
" Should carry't by the Multitude of Voices,  
" Oh! this would make a learned and Liberal Soul  
" To Rive his stained Quill up to the Back,  
" And Damn his long watched Labours to the Fire.   
FINIS.