An Allusion To Horace Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Well Sir 'tis granted I said Dryden's Rhimes	A
Were stoln unequal nay dull many times	A
What foolish Patron is there found of his	A
So blindly partial to deny me this	A
But that his Plays Embroider'd up and downe	B
With Witt and Learning justly pleas'd the Towne	B
In the same paper I as freely owne	B
Yet haveing this allow'd the heavy Masse	A
That stuffs up his loose Volumes must not passe	A
For by that Rule I might as well admit	C
Crownes tedious Scenes for Poetry and Witt	C
'Tis therefore not enough when your false Sense	A
Hits the false Judgment of an Audience	A
Of Clapping Fooles assembling a vast Crowd	D
'Till the throng'd Play House crack with the dull Load	E
Tho' ev'n that Tallent merrits in some sort	F
That can divert the Rabble and the Court	F
Which blundring Settle never cou'd attaine	B
And puzling Otway labours at in vaine	B
But within due proportions circumscribe	G
What e're you write that with a flowing Tyde	F
The Stile may rise yet in its rise forbeare	H
With uselesse Words t'oppresse the wearyed Eare	H
Here be your Language lofty there more light	F
Your Rethorick with your Poetry unite	F
For Elegance sake sometimes alay the force	A
Of Epethets 'twill soften the discourse	A
A Jeast in Scorne poynts out and hits the thing	I
More home than the Morosest Satyrs Sting	I
Shakespeare and Johnson did herein excell	J
And might in this be Immitated well	J
Whom refin'd Etheridge Coppys not at all	J
But is himself a Sheere Originall	J
Nor that Slow Drudge in swift Pindarique straines	A
Flatman who Cowley imitates with paines	A
And rides a Jaded Muse whipt with loose Raines	A
When Lee makes temp'rate Scipio fret and Rave	K
And Haniball a whineing Am'rous Slave	K
I laugh and wish the hot brain'd Fustian Foole	J
In Busbys hands to be well lasht at Schoole	J
Of all our Moderne Witts none seemes to me	L
Once to have toucht upon true Comedy	L
But hasty Shadwell and slow Witcherley	J
Shadwells unfinisht workes doe yet impart	F
Great proofes of force of Nature none of Art	F
With just bold Stroakes he dashes here and there	H
Shewing great Mastery with little care	H
And scornes to varnish his good touches o're	H
To make the Fooles and Women praise 'em more	H
But Witcherley earnes hard what e're he gaines	A
He wants noe Judgment nor he spares noe paines	A
He frequently excells and at the least	F
Makes fewer faults than any of the best	F
Waller by Nature for the Bayes design'd	F
With force and fire and fancy unconfin'd	F
In Panigericks does Excell Mankind	F
He best can turne enforce and soften things	A
To praise great Conqu'rours or to flatter Kings	A
For poynted Satyrs I wou'd Buckhurst choose	A
The best good Man with the worst Natur'd Muse	A
For Songs and Verses Mannerly Obscene	B
That can stirr Nature up by Springs unseene	B
And without forceing blushes warme the Queene	B
Sidley has that prevailing gentle Art	F
That can with a resistlesse Charme impart	F
The loosest wishes to the Chastest Heart	F
Raise such a Conflict kindle such a ffire	H
Betwixt declineing Virtue and desire	H
Till the poor Vanquisht Maid dissolves away	H
In Dreames all Night in Sighs and Teares all Day	H
Dryden in vaine try'd this nice way of Witt	F
For he to be a tearing Blade thought fit	F
But when he wou'd be sharp he still was blunt	F
To friske his frollique fancy hed cry Cunt	F
Wou'd give the Ladyes a dry Bawdy bob	M
And thus he got the name of Poet Squab	M
But to be just twill to his praise be found	F
His Excellencies more than faults abound	F
Nor dare I from his Sacred Temples teare	H
That Lawrell which he best deserves to weare	H
But does not Dryden find ev'n Johnson dull	J
Fletcher and Beaumont uncorrect and full	J
Of Lewd lines as he calls em Shakespeares Stile	J
Stiffe and Affected To his owne the while	J
Allowing all the justnesse that his Pride	F
Soe Arrogantly had to these denyd	F
And may not I have leave Impartially	J
To search and Censure Drydens workes and try	H
If those grosse faults his Choyce Pen does Commit	F
Proceed from want of Judgment or of Witt	F
Of if his lumpish fancy does refuse	A
Spirit and grace to his loose slatterne Muse	A
Five Hundred Verses ev'ry Morning writ	F
Proves you noe more a Poet than a Witt	F
Such scribling Authors have beene seene before	H
Mustapha the English Princesse Forty more	H
Were things perhaps compos'd in Half an Houre	H
To write what may securely stand the test	F
Of being well read over Thrice oat least	F
Compare each Phrase examin ev'ry Line	B
Weigh ev'ry word and ev'ry thought refine	B
Scorne all Applause the Vile Rout can bestow	F
And be content to please those few who know	F
Canst thou be such a vaine mistaken thing	I
To wish thy Workes might make a Play house ring	I
With the unthinking Laughter and poor praise	A
Of Fopps and Ladys factious for thy Plays	A
Then send a cunning Friend to learne thy doome	L
From the shrew'd Judges in the Drawing Roome	L
I've noe Ambition on that idle score	H
But say with Betty Morice heretofore	H
When a Court Lady call'd her Buckleys Whore	H
I please one Man of Witt am proud on't too	F
Let all the Coxcombs dance to bed to you	F
Shou'd I be troubled when the Purblind Knight	F
Who squints more in his Judgment than his sight	F
Picks silly faults and Censures what I write	F
Or when the poor fed Poets of the Towne	B
For Scrapps and Coach roome cry my Verses downe	B
I loath the Rabble 'tis enough for me	L
If Sidley Shadwell Shepherd Witcherley	J
Godolphin Buttler Buckhurst Buckingham	L
And some few more whom I omit to name	L
Approve my Sense I count their Censure Fame	L

John Wilmot

An Allusion To Horace Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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