Page:The Works of Abraham Cowley - volume 1 (ed. Aikin) (1806).djvu/184

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COWLEY'S POEMS.
Fraught with brisk racy verses; in which we
The soil from whence they came taste, smell, and see:
Such is your present to us; for you must know,
Sir, that verse does not in this island grow,
No more than sack: one lately did not fear
(Without the Muses' leave) to plant it here;
But it produc'd such base, rough, crabbed, hedge-
Rhymes, as ev'n set the hearers' ears on edge:
Written by ————— Esquire, the
Year of our Lord six hundred thirty-three.
Brave Jersey Muse! and he's for this high style
Call'd to this day the Homer of the Isle.
Alas! to men here no words less hard be
To rhyme with, than [1]Mount Orgueil is to me;
Mount Orgueil! which, in scorn o'th' Muses' law,
With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.
Stubborn Mount Orgueil! 't is a work to make it
Come into rhyme, more hard than 't were to take it.
Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,
Strange as to bring camels and elephants were;
And metaphor is so unknown a thing,
'T would need the preface of "God save the King."
Yet this I'll say, for th' honour of the place,
That, by God's extraordinary grace
(Which shows the people have judgment, if not wit)
The land is undefil'd with Clinches yet;
Which, in my poor opinion, I confess,
Is a most singular blessing, and no less

  1. The name of one of the castles in Jersey.