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This made a Dispute; for 'twas plain to be seen
Each Man had a Mind to gratifie the Queen :
But Apollo himself could not think it fir; (Wit.
There was Difference, he said, betwixt Fooling and
SVCKLING next was call'd, but did not appear,
But streight one whisper'd Apollo i' th' Ear,
That of all Men living he card not fort,
He lov'd not the Muses so well as his Sport ;
And priz'd black Eyes, or a lucky Hit
At Bowls, above all the Trophies of Wit :
But Apollo was angry, and publickly said,
'Twere fit that a Fine were set apon's Head.
Wat Montague now ftood forth to his Trial,
And did not so much as suspect a Denials
But witty Apollo ask'd him first of all,
If he understood his own Pastoral.
For if he cou'd do it, 'twould plainly appear
He unde ftood more than any Man there,
And did merit the Bays above all the rest,
But the Monsieur was modeft; and Silence confeft.
During these Troubles, in the Court was hid
One that Apollo soon miss'd, little Cid;
And having spy'd him, call'd him out of the Throng,
And advis'd him in his Ear not to write so strong,
Murrey was fummond, but 'twas urg'd that he
Was Chief already of another Company.
Hales set by himself most gravely did smile
To see them about nothing keep such a Coil ;
Apollo had spy'd him, but knowing his Mind
Past by, and calld Falkland, that late just behind :
But he was of late so gone with Divinity,
That he had almoft forgot his Poetry,
Though to say the Truth, and Apollo did know it,
He might have been both his Pricft and his poet.
At length who but an Alderman did appear,
At which Will Davenant began to swear ;

But wiser Apollo bade him draw nigher,
And, when he was mounted a little higher,
He openly declar'd, that the best sign
Of good Store of Wit's to have good Store of Coin ,
And without a Syllable more or less said,
He put the Laurel on the Alderman's Head.
At this all the Wits were in such a maze
That, for a good while, they did nothing but gaze
One upon another; not a Man in the Place
But had Discontent writ at large in his face..
Only the small Poets chear'd up again,
Out of Hope, as 'twas thought, of borrowing;
But sure they were out, for he forfeits his Crown
When he lends to any Poet about the Town.



To the Tune of Cook-Lawrel. A

Pollo concern'd to see the Transgressions

Our paltry Poets do daily commit,
Gave order once more to summon a Sefions,
Severely to punish the abuses of Wit.


(Court, Will D'Avenant would fain have been Steward o'th'

To have fin'd and amerc'd each Man at his Will;
But Apollo, it seems, had heard a Report,
That his choice of new Plays did show h'ad no skill.

Besides, some Criticks had ow'd him a spite,

And a little before had made the God fret,
By letting him know the Laureat did write
That damnable Farce, The House to be Lett.

Intelligence was brought, the Court being set,

That a Play Tripartite was very near made; Where malicious Matt Clifford, and spiritual Spratt,

Were joind with their Duke, a Peer of the Trade.




Apollo rejoic'd, and did hope for amends,

Because he knew it was the first case The Duke e'er did ask the advice of his Friends, And so wish'd his Play as well clapt as his Grace,

o Yes being made, and silence proclaim'd

Apollo began to read the Court-Roll;
When as soon as he saw Frank. Berkley was nam’d,

He scarce could forbear from cearing the Scroll. But Berkley, to make his Int'rest the greater,

Suspeating before what would come to pass, Procur'd him his Coulin Fitzharding's Lettera

With which Apollo wiped his Arse. Guy with his Pastoral next went to Pot;

At first in a doleful Study he stood, Thin few'd a Certificate which he had got From the Maids of Honour, but it did him no good,

IX. Humorous Weeden came in in a pet,

And for the Laurel began to splutter ; But Apollo chid him, and bid him first get

A Muse not so common as Mrs. Rutter.
A number of other small Poets appear'd,

With whom for a time Apollo made sport ;
Clifford and Flecknoe were very well jeerd,
And in Conclusion whip'd out of the Court.

Tom Killigrew boldly came up to the Bar,

Thinking his jibing would get him the Bays ;
But Apollo was angry, and bid him beware

That he caught him no more a printing his Plays. With ill luck in Battle, but worse in Wit,

George Porter began for the Laurel to bawl; But Apollo did think such Impudence fit

To be thrust out of Court, as he's out of Whitehall,




Savoy-missing Cowley came into the Court,

Making Apologies for his bad play
Ev'ry one gave him so good a Report;
That Apollo gave heed to all he could say :

Nor would he have had, 'tis thought, a rebuke,

Unless he had done fome notaðle Folly ;
Writ Verses unjustly in praise of Sam Tuke,
Or printed his piciful Melancholy.

Cotton did next to the Bays pretend,

But Apollo told him it was not fit;
Tho' his Virgil was well, it made but amends
For the worft Panegyrick that ever was writ.

Old Shirly stood up and made an Excuse,

Because many young Men before him were got ; He vow'd he had switch'd and spur-galld his Muse,

But still the dull Jade kept to her old Trot. Sir Robert Howard, calld for over and over,

Ar length fent in Teague with a Pacquet of News, Wherein the sad Knight, to his Grief, did discover,

How Dryden had lately robb’d him of his Mule. Each Man in the Court was pleas'd with the Theft,

Which made the whole Family swear and rant, Defiring, their Obin i'th' lurch being left,

The Thief might be fin’d for the wild Gallant. Dryden, whom one would have thought had more Wit,

The censure of ev'ry Man did disdain, Pleading some pitiful Rhimes he had writ In praise of the Countefs of Castlemaine.

xx. Ned Howard, in whom great Nature is found,

Tho' never took notice of till that Day, Impatiently far till it came to his Round, Then rose and commended the Plot of his Play.

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Such Arrogance made Apollo Atark mad;

But Shirly endeavour'd to appease his Choler,
By owning the Play, and swearing the Lad

In Poetry was a very pert Scholar. James Howard being call'd for out of the Throng,

Booted and fpur'd to the Bar did advance, Where singing a damn'd nonsenfical Song,

The Youth and his Mufe were fent into France. Newcastle and's Horse for entrance next ftrives, Well stuff'd was his Cloakbag, and so was his Breeches. :

[maker lives, and unbutt’ning the place where Nature's PossetPull'd out his Wife's Poems, Plays, Essays and SpeeXXIV.

Eches. Whoop, quoth Apollo, what a Devil have we here?

Put ap thy Wife's Trumpery, good noble Marquiss, And home again, home again, take thy Career, To provide her fresh Straw, and a Chamber that XXV.

(dark is. Sam Tuke fat and formally smil'd at the rest ;

But Apollo who weil did his Vanity know,
Calld him to the Bar to put him to th’Teft,
But his Muse was so ftiff the scarcely could go.

She pleaded her Age, desir'd a Reward ;

It seems in her Age Me doated on Praise ;
But Apollo resolv'd'that such a bold Bard
Should never be grac'd with a Per’wig of Bays.

Stapleton stood up, and had nothing to fay,

But Apollo forbid the old Knight to despair, Commanding him once more to write a new Play,

To be danc'd by the Poppets at Bartholomew-Fair. Sir William Killegrew doubting his Plays,

Before he was call'd crept up to the Bench, And whisper'd Apollo, in case he would praise

Selyndra, he hould have a Bout with the Wench,


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