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24
The second muse
These be the wall of Gods own work and framing
Against our foes, and of his own maintaining,
Wherefore we blesse his holy Name that made us,
And pray that never forraine scepter lead us,
T'impose hard lawes, and tributaries make us,
To chastise us with scorpions, and to rake us;
And likewise pray, that Ajax-like, we would not
Undo our selves, which all our enemies could not.
But O dear Caledonia! What desire[1]
Have all men who have heard thy fame t'admire
Thy monuments? How much more these who be
Thy sons, desire thy maiden soile to see?
Thy maiden castle, and fair Maiden burgh,
The stately winged Citie, which is through
All ages much renow'nd with streets so fair,
And palaces so mounted in the air
That if the deepnesse of imagination
Could limme a landskape by deep meditation,
Scarce could it match, where bravest youths abound,
And gravest counsellours are alwayes found:
Where Justice joineth hand with true Religion,
And golden vertue keep the middle region,
As register, where these acts are enrold,
Better than in Corinthian brasse or gold.
Let Poetaster-parasits, who fain,
And fawn, and crouch, and coutch, and creep for gain,
And, where no hope of gain is, huffe, and hur,
And bark against the Moone as doth a Cur;
Let such base curs, who nought but gobbets smell,
Wish the disgrac'd, and deeply sunk in hell
Against our foes, and of his own maintaining,
Wherefore we blesse his holy Name that made us,
And pray that never forraine scepter lead us,
T'impose hard lawes, and tributaries make us,
To chastise us with scorpions, and to rake us;
And likewise pray, that Ajax-like, we would not
Undo our selves, which all our enemies could not.
But O dear Caledonia! What desire[1]
Have all men who have heard thy fame t'admire
Thy monuments? How much more these who be
Thy sons, desire thy maiden soile to see?
Thy maiden castle, and fair Maiden burgh,
The stately winged Citie, which is through
All ages much renow'nd with streets so fair,
And palaces so mounted in the air
That if the deepnesse of imagination
Could limme a landskape by deep meditation,
Scarce could it match, where bravest youths abound,
And gravest counsellours are alwayes found:
Where Justice joineth hand with true Religion,
And golden vertue keep the middle region,
As register, where these acts are enrold,
Better than in Corinthian brasse or gold.
Let Poetaster-parasits, who fain,
And fawn, and crouch, and coutch, and creep for gain,
And, where no hope of gain is, huffe, and hur,
And bark against the Moone as doth a Cur;
Let such base curs, who nought but gobbets smell,
Wish the disgrac'd, and deeply sunk in hell
Whether
- ↑ Edinburgh.