Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/168

158 In dirty clothes and a wild garb appear, And scarce are brought to cut their nails and hair, And hope to purchase credit and esteem, When they, like Cromwell's porter, frantic seem; Strange! that the very height of lunacy, Beyond the cure of Allen, e'er should be A mark of the elect in poetry. How much an ass am I that used to bleed, And take a purge each spring to clear my head! None otherwise would be so good as I, At lofty strains, and rants of poetry; But, faith, I am not yet so fond of fame, To lose my reason for a poet's name. Though I myself am not disposed to write, In others I may serve to sharpen wit; Acquaint them what a poet's duty is, And how he shall perform it with success; Whence the materials for his work are sought, And how with skilful art they must be wrought; And show what is, and is not, decency, And where his faults and excellencies lie Good sense must be the certain standard still, To all that will pretend to writing well; If you'll arrive at that, you needs must be Well versed and grounded in philosophy; Then choose a subject which you thoroughly know, And words unsought thereon will easy flow. Whoe'er will write, must diligently mind The several sorts and ranks of human kind; He that has learned what to his country's due, What we to parents, friends, and kindred owe, What charge a statesman or a judge does bear, And what the parts of a commander are, Will ne'er be at a loss (he may be sure) To give each person their due portraiture.