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I neither ftrut with ev'ry fav'ring breath,
"But why all this of Av'rice? I have none."
In fpight: of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
h` Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank your fill: Walk fober off; before a fprightlier age
Comes titt'ring on, and fhoves you from the stage: Leave fuch to trifle with more grace and eafe, 326 Whom Folly pleases, and whofe Follies please.
Imitator is only for removing the falfe terrors from the world of fpirits, fuch as the diablerie of witchcraft and purgatory.
Dr. JOHN DONNE,
Dean of ST. PAUL's,
Quid vetat et nofmet Lucili fcripta legentes
IR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate
In all ill things fo excellently beft,
That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the reft. Though Poetry, indeed, be such a fin,
As, I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in: Though like the peftilence, and old-fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove
Never, till it be ftarv'd out; yet their state
Is poor, difarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.
One (like a wretch, which at barre judg❜d as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot read, And faves his life) gives Idiot Actors means, (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes. As in fome Organs, Puppits dance above
And bellows pant bellow, which them do move.
One would move love by rythmes; but witchcraft's
Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms;
ES; thank my ftars! as early as I knew
This Town, I had the sense to hate it too:
Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be ftill
That all befide, one pities, not abhors;
As who knows Sapho, fmiles at other whores.
It brought (no doubt) th' Excise and Army in: Catch'd like the Plague, or Love, the Lord knows
But that the cure is ftarving, all allow.
Yet like the Papift's, is the Poet's ftate,
Poor and difarm'd, and hardly worth your hate!
One fings the Fair; but fongs no longer move; No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love: * O