When as our English Poets, those happier men
That can drop wonders from their fluent pen:
Have with their miracles of Poetry
Feasted thy eares, and satisfi’d thy eye;
Then turn aside; and ‘mongst the vulger things,
Place what my new-born Muse abruptly sings.
Which though it be but meane (as tis confest)
‘T hath ventured hard to pleas thee, since tis prest:
If thou smile on it, I shall think my braine
Hath labour’d for this issue not in vain,
If otherwise thou do contemn my layes.
My pleasur’s more to me, then all thy praise.
(Henry Bold)
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Based on Topics: Place Poems, Literature Poems, Praise Poems, Poets Poems, Poetry PoemsBased on Keywords: braine, pleasur, satisfi, vulger