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Wherefore, if men inclined are to look, Perhaps their graver fancies may be took With what is here, though but in homely rhimes: But he who pleases all must rise betimes. Some, I persuade me, will be finding fault, Concluding here I trip, and there I halt: No doubt some could these groy'ling notions raise By fine-spun terms that challenge might the bays. Should all be forced to lay their brains aside That cannot regulate the flowing tide, By this or that man's fancy we should have The wise unto the fool become a ave. What though my text seems mean, my morals be Grave, as if fetched from a sublimer tree. And if some better handle can a fly, Ihan some a text, wherefore should we deny Their making proof, or good experiment, Of smallest things, great mischiefs to prevent,
Wise Solomon did fools to pismires send,
I think the wiser sort my rhime may slight, While I peruse them, fools will take delight. Then what care I ? The foolish, God has chose; And doth by foolish things their minds compose, And settle upon that which is divine : Great things by little ones are made to shine.
I could were I so pleased, use higher strains; And for applause on tenters stretch my brains ;
But what needs that? The arrow out of sight
As for the inconsiderableness
UPON THE BARREN FIG-TREE IN GOD'S
What! barren here, in this so good a soil,
Art thou not planted by the water side?
Thou hast been digg’d about, and dunged too, Will neither patience, nor yet dressing do? The executioner is come, O tree! Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!
He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Thy standing, nor thy name, will help at all;