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- 714 ##
714. NOT EVERY DAY FIT FOR VERSE.
'Tis not ev'ry day that I
Fitted am to prophesy;
No; but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles
Full of fire, then I write
As the godhead doth indite.
Thus enrag'd, my lines are hurled,
Like the Sybil's, through the world.
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools, till when
That brave spirit comes again.
Fantastic pannicles, brain cells of the imagination.
Sybil's, the oracles of the Cumæan Sybil were written on leaves, which the wind blew about her cave.—Virg. Æn. iv.
Fitted am to prophesy;
No; but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles
Full of fire, then I write
As the godhead doth indite.
Thus enrag'd, my lines are hurled,
Like the Sybil's, through the world.
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools, till when
That brave spirit comes again.
Fantastic pannicles, brain cells of the imagination.
Sybil's, the oracles of the Cumæan Sybil were written on leaves, which the wind blew about her cave.—Virg. Æn. iv.
- 715 ##
715. POVERTY THE GREATEST PACK.
To mortal men great loads allotted be,
But of all packs, no pack like poverty.
But of all packs, no pack like poverty.
- 716 ##
716. A BUCOLIC, OR DISCOURSE OF NEATHERDS.
1. Come, blitheful neatherds, let us lay
A wager who the best shall play,
Of thee or I, the roundelay
That fits the business of the day.
Chor. And Lalage the judge shall be,
To give the prize to thee, or me.
A wager who the best shall play,
Of thee or I, the roundelay
That fits the business of the day.
Chor. And Lalage the judge shall be,
To give the prize to thee, or me.
