When late Protectorship was Canon-Proof, And _Cap-a-pe_ had seiz'd on _Whitehall_-Roof, And next, on _Israelites_ durst look so big, That _Tory-like_, it lov'd not much the _Whigg_: A Poet there starts up, of wondrous Fame; Whether _Scribe_ or _Pharisee_, his Race doth name, Or more t'intrigue the Metaphor of Man, Got on a Muse by _Father-Publican_: [Sidenote: A Committee-Man.] For 'tis not harder much, if we tax Nature, That Lines should give a Poet such a Feature; Than that his Verse a _Hero_ should us show, [Sidenote: _Sir Denzill Hollis_ seeks _annum mirabilis_.] Produc'd by such a Feat, as famous too. His Mingle such, what Man presumes to think, But he can Figures daub with Pen and Ink. A Grace our mighty _Nimrod_ late beheld, When he within the Royal Palace dwell'd, And saw 'twas of import if Lines could bring His Greatness from _Usurper_, to be King: [Sidenote: See his Poem on _Cromwel_.] Or varnish so his Praise, that little odds Should seem 'twixt him, and such called Earthly Gods. And tho no Wit can Royal Blood infuse, No more than melt a Mother to a Muse: Yet much a certain Poet undertook, That Men and Manners deals in without-Book. And might not more to Gospel-Truth belong, Than he (if Christened) does by name of _John._ This Poet, who that time much squanderd thought, Of which some might bring Coyn, whilst some none brought, As Men that hold their Brains of powerful sense, Will least on Poet's Tales bestow their pence, Tho he such Dispensations to endear, Had notch'd his Sconce just level with his Ear. An Emblem in these days of much import, When Crop-ear'd Wits had such a Modish Court. Tho some from after-deeds much fear the Fate, That such a Muse may for its Lugs create. As Stars may without Pillories dispence, To slit some Ears for Forgeries of sense, Which Princes, Nobles, and the Fame of Men, Sought to bespatter by a worthless Pen. But leaving this to Circumstances fit, With what thence spreads this Renegado-wit. We'll tell you how his Court he now doth make, } And what choice Things and Persons he doth take, } That Lines for Guinnys might more liquorish speak. } To heigten which we'll to his Muse advance, Which late discover'd its _Judaick_ Trance: Where _Absalon_'s in _English_ Colours di'd, That in a Duke, a Traitor might be spi'd. Or Heaven on him did Graces so bestow, As only could confer their Pageant Show; Giving his Glories no more fast Renown, Than with more Honour to be taken down: Like Victimes by some Sacrificers drest, Must fall adorn'd, which then they pity least. But fear not _Monmouth_, if a Libel's quill, Would dregs of Venom on thy Vertue spill; Since no desert so smoothly is convey'd, As next it's Fame, no canker'd Patch is laid; Thou didst no Honour seek, but what's thy due, And such Heaven bids thee not relinquish too. Whilst it's Impressions so oblig'd thy Task, As leave from Earth thy Soul declin'd to ask. If this thy Error were, what Influ'nce can Excuse the Duty of more wilfull Man;