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This made a Dispute; for 'twas plain to be seen
But wiser Apollo bade him draw nigher,
The SESSION of the POETS.
To the Tune of Cook-Lawrel. A
Pollo concern'd to see the Transgressions
Our paltry Poets do daily commit,
(Court, Will D'Avenant would fain have been Steward o'th'
To have fin'd and amerc'd each Man at his Will;
And a little before had made the God fret,
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,
Apollo began to read the Court-Roll;
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.
With whom for a time Apollo made sport ;
Thinking his jibing would get him the Bays ;
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
Unless he had done fome notaðle Folly ;
But Apollo told him it was not fit;
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.
But Shirly endeavour'd to appease his Choler,
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,
It seems in her Age Me doated on Praise ;
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,