His Greatness from _Usurper_, to be King:
[Sidenote: See his Poem on _Cromwel_.]
Or varnish so his Praise, that little odds
Should seem 'twixt him, and such called Earthly Gods.
And tho no Wit can Royal Blood infuse,
No more than melt a Mother to a Muse:
Yet much a certain Poet undertook,
That Men and Manners deals in without-Book.
And might not more to Gospel-Truth belong,
Than he (if Christened) does by name of _John._
This Poet, who that time much squanderd thought,
Of which some might bring Coyn, whilst some none brought,
As Men that hold their Brains of powerful sense,
Will least on Poet's Tales bestow their pence,
Tho he such Dispensations to endear,
Had notch'd his Sconce just level with his Ear.
An Emblem in these days of much import,
When Crop-ear'd Wits had such a Modish Court.
Tho some from after-deeds much fear the Fate,
That such a Muse may for its Lugs create.
As Stars may without Pillories dispence,
To slit some Ears for Forgeries of sense,
Which Princes, Nobles, and the Fame of Men,
Sought to bespatter by a worthless Pen.
But leaving this to Circumstances fit,
With what thence spreads this Renegado-wit.
We'll tell you how his Court he now doth make, }
And what choice Things and Persons he doth take, }
That Lines for Guinnys might more liquorish speak. }
To heigten which we'll to his Muse advance,