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Tast of Poëtique rage, or flattery, |
And need not, where all hearts one truth professe; |
Oft from new proofes, and new phrase, new doubts grow, |
As strange attire aliens the men wee know. |
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Leaving then busie praise, and all appeale, |
To higher Courts, senses decree is true, |
The Mine, the Magazine, the Commonweale, |
The story of beauty', in Twicknam is, and you. |
Who hath seene one, would both; As, who had bin |
In Paradise, would seeke the Cherubin. |
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To Sr Edward Herbert. at Iulyers. |
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Man is a lumpe, where all beasts kneaded bee, |
Wisdome makes him an Arke where all agree; |
The foole, in whom these beasts do live at jarre, |
Is sport to others, and a Theater, |
Nor scapes hee so, but is himselfe their prey; |
All which was man in him, is eate away, |
And now his beasts on one another feed, |
Yet couple'in anger, and new monsters breed; |
How happy'is hee, which hath due place assign'd |
To'his beasts, and disaforested his minde? |
Empail'd himselfe to keepe them out, not in; |
Can sow, and dares trust corne, where they have bin;
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[CW: Can] |