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Tixall Poetry.
So silly glow-worms in the dark may play,
And glory in ther owne compendious day,
Til thay, with ther owne light, themselves betray.
T' invite, I grant it is enough to shew,
But such dull things as I, before we goe,
Must have our tickling on, and spurring too.
Then since bare representing is not all
To make a poeme what we perfect call,
We must be sharp too, and patheticall.
Now, since I cannot reach the latter two,
And scorne to seeke the first as much as you,
You see me write thus carelesse as I doe.
Where it a line, or half a line you see
Worth looking o're without impatiency,
Pray send it, or a coppy, back to me.
And glory in ther owne compendious day,
Til thay, with ther owne light, themselves betray.
T' invite, I grant it is enough to shew,
But such dull things as I, before we goe,
Must have our tickling on, and spurring too.
Then since bare representing is not all
To make a poeme what we perfect call,
We must be sharp too, and patheticall.
Now, since I cannot reach the latter two,
And scorne to seeke the first as much as you,
You see me write thus carelesse as I doe.
Where it a line, or half a line you see
Worth looking o're without impatiency,
Pray send it, or a coppy, back to me.
II.
I'm mightily now taken with this way,
To save art, labor, and let nature play,
And write before I have a word to say:
To save art, labor, and let nature play,
And write before I have a word to say:
