This made a Difpute; for 'twas plain to be seen
Each Man had a Mind to gratifie the Queen:
But Apollo himself could not think it fit; [Wit.
There was Difference, he faid, betwixt Fooling and
SUCKLING next was call'd, but did not appear,
But ftreight one whisper'd Apollo i' th' Ear,
That of all Men living he car'd not for't,
He lov'd not the Mufes fo well as his Sport;
And priz'd black Eyes, or a lucky Hit
At Bowls, above all the Trophies of Wit :
But Apollo was angry, and publickly faid,
'Twere fit that a Fine were fet upon's Head.
Wat Montague now food forth to his Trial,
And did not fo much as fufpect a Denial;
But witty Apollo ask'd him first of all,
If he understood his own Paftoral.
For if he cou'd do it, 'twould plainly appear
He underfood more than any Man there,
And did merit the Bays above all the reft,
But the Monfieur was modeft; and Silence confeft.
During these Troubles, in the Court was hid
One that Apollo foon miss'd, little Cid;
And having spy'd him, call'd him out of the Throng,
And advis'd him in his Ear not to write so strong,
Murrey was fummon'd, but 'rwas urg'd that he
Was Chief already of another Company.
Hales fet by himself moft gravely did smile
To see them about nothing keep fuch a Coil;
Apollo had fpy'd him, but knowing his Mind
Paft by, and call'd Falkland, that fate juft behind:
But he was of late fo gone with Divinity,
That he had almoft forgot his Poetry,
Though to say the Truth, and Apollo did know it,
He might have been both his Prieft and his Poet.
At length who but an Alderman did appear,
At which Will Davenant began to fwear;
But wifer Apollo bade him draw nigher,
And, when he was mounted a little higher,
He openly declar'd, that the best Sign
Of good Store of Wit's to have good Store of Coin, And without a Syllable more or lefs faid,
He put the Laurel on the Alderman's Head.
At this all the Wits were in fuch a maze
That, for a good while, they did nothing but gaze
One upon another; not a Man in the Place
But had Difcontent writ at large in his Face.
Only the small Poets chear'd up again,
Out of Hope, as 'twas thought, of borrowing;
But fure they were out, for he forfeits his Crown
When he lends to any Poet about the Town..
The SESSION of the POETS. To the Tune of Cook-Lawrel.
Gave order once more to fummon a Seffions,
Severely to punish the abuses of Wit.
Will D'Avenant would fain have been Steward o'th' To have fin'd and amerc'd each Man at his Will; But Apollo, it feems, had heard a Report,
That his choice of new Plays did show had no skill.
Befides, fome Criticks had ow'd him a fpite,
And a little before had made the God fret,
By letting him know the Laureat did write
That damnable Farce, The Houfe to be Lett.
Intelligence was brought, the Court being fet,
That a Play Tripartite was very near made;
Where malicious Matt Clifford, and spiritual Spratt,
Were join'd with their Duke, a Peer of the Trade.
Apollo rejoic'd, and did hope for amends,
Because he knew it was the firft cafe
The Duke e'er did ask the advice of his Friends, And so wish'd his Play as well clapt as his Grace,
O Yes being made, and filence proclaim'd
Apollo began to read the Court-Roll;
When as foon as he faw Frank Berkley was nam'd,
He fearce could forbear from tearing the Scroll.
But Berkley, to make his Int'reft the greater,
Sufpe&ting before what would come to pass,
Procur'd him his Coufin Fitzharding's Letter,
With which Apollo wiped his Arfe.
Guy with his Paftoral next went to Pot;
At first in a doleful Study he stood,
Then fhew'd a Certificate which he had got
From the Maids of Honour,but it did him no good,
Humorous Weeden came in in a pet,
And for the Laurel began to fplutter; But Apollo chid him, and bid him first get A Mufe not fo common as Mrs. Rutter.
A number of other fmall Poets appear'd,
With whom for a time Apollo made sport;
Clifford and Flecknoe were very well jeer'd,
And in Conclufion whip'd out of the Court.
XI.
Tom Killigrew boldly came up to the Bar,
Thinking his jibing would get him the Bays;
But Apollo was angry, and bid him beware
That he caught him no more a printing his Plays,
With ill luck in Battle, but worse in Wit,
George Porter began for the Laurel to bawl;
But Apollo did think such Impudence fit
To be thrust out of Court, as he's out of Whitehall,
Savoy-miffing Cowley came into the Court,
Making Apologies for his bad Play;
Ev'ry one gave him so good a Report,
That Apollo gave heed to all he could fay :
Nor would he have had, 'tis thought, a rebuke,
Unless he had done fome notable Folly;
Writ Verfes unjustly in praise of Sam Tuke,
Or printed his pitiful Melancholy.
Cotton did next to the Bays pretend,
But Apollo told him it was not fit;
Tho' his Virgil was well, it made but amends
For the worst Panegyrick that ever was writ.
Old Shirly stood up and made an Excuse,
Because many young Men before him were got;
He vow'd he had fwitch'd and fpur-gall'd his Mufe,
But ftill the dull Jade kept to her old Trot.
Sir Robert Howard, call'd for over and over,
At length fent in Teague with a Pacquet of News,
Wherein the fad Knight, to his Grief, did difcover,
How Dryden had lately robb'd him of his Mufe.
Each Man in the Court was pleas'd with the Theft, Which made the whole Family fwear and rant, Defiring, their Obin i'th' lurch being left,
The Thief might be fin'd for the wild Gallant.
Dryden, whom one would have thought had more Wit,
The cenfure of ev'ry Man did difdain,
Pleading fome pitiful Rhimes he had writ
In praife of the Countefs of Castlemaine.
Ned Howard, in whom great Nature is found,
Tho' never took notice of till that Day,
Impatiently fat till it came to his Round,
Then rofe and commended the Plot of his Play.
Such Arrogance made Apollo ftark mad;
But Shirly endeavour'd to appease his Choler,
By owning the Play, and fwearing the Lad
In Poetry was a very pert Scholar.
James Howard being call'd for out of the Throng,
Booted and fpur'd to the Bar did advance,
Where finging a damn'd nonfenfical Song,
The Youth and his Mufe were fent into France.
Newcastle and's Horse for entrance next strives, Well ftuff'd was his Cloakbag, and fo was his Breeches. [maker lives, And unbutt'ning the Place where Nature's PoffetPull'd out his Wife's Poems, Plays, Effays and Spee
[ches. Whoop, quoth Apollo, what a Devil have we here? Put up thy Wife's Trumpery, good noble Marquifs, And home again, home again, take thy Career, To provide her fresh Straw, and a Chamber that XXV. [dark is. Sam Tuke fat and formally fmil'd at the reft; But Apollo who well did his Vanity know, Call'd him to the Bar to put him to th' Teft, But his Mufe was fo ftiff the scarcely could go.
She pleaded her Age, defir'd a Reward;
It seems in her Age fhe doated on Praife; But Apollo refolv'd that fuch a bold Bard
Should never be grae'd with a Per'wig of Bays.
Stapleton ftood up, and had nothing to fay,
But Apollo forbid the old Knight to despair,
Commanding him once more to write a new Play,
To be danc'd by the Poppets at Bartholmew-Fair.
Sir William Killegrew doubting his Plays,
Before he was call'd crept up to the Bench,
And whisper'd Apollo, in cafe he would praise
Selyndra, he should have a Bout with the Wench,
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