Thus to Glaucus spake
Divine Sarpedon, since he did not find
Others, as great in place, as great in mind:--
Sure there are poets which did never dream
Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream
Of Helicon; we therefore may suppose
All on a weeping Monday,
With a fat vulgarian sloven,
Little admiral John
Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate,
That few but such as cannot write, translate.
But what in them is want of art or voice,
Having at large declared Jove's embassy,
Cyllenius from Aeneas straight doth fly;
He, loth to disobey the god's command,
Though all the actions of your life are crown'd
With wisdom, nothing makes them more renown'd,
Love! in what poison is thy dart
Dipp'd, when it makes a bleeding heart?
None know but they who feel the smart.
What gives us that fantastic fit,
That all our judgment and our wit
To vulgar custom we submit?
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;