ODE XLIX

1

I am not limited to a precise
Number, in what I write;
Nor curbe my owne delight
Of Freedome, to be thought more formall wise.
Nor doe I meerlie Strive
To change; but take the next
Which falls to Sence: the Live
Formes of an honest text,
Seekes little to Illustrate its intent;
And wrests in nothing, from the Argument.

2

Though in these Scattered Fancies, I can boast
Noe proper Treatise; for
I catch, at everie hower,
And onlie glance at things; I am not lost
To Studies of more weight;
But Shadow out, by these,
What I would chuse to write,
Were I secure in Ease;
And often touch the String, I would Applye,
Would Time allow, to its full Harmonye.

3

I cannot Subject my Designe to Rhime;
That is, I cannot fall
Meerlie to Rhime; and all
My notions hang, to any certaine Chime;
But to the nearest Sence
I take a Number fitt;
And hardlie, for pretence
Of finer, loose my witt;
For who that has his Passions subdued?
Can bind his Reason, to that Servitude?

4

Man (Lord of Language, great Distinguisher
Of Forme, to what is fitt)
Looseth, if he submitt
To Custome, his Prerogative; may cleare
All Scruples, and dispose
Of them by Edict, to
What ever heele propose;
They loose theire title, who
Necessitate a Forme, or dwell in words.
Soe are they vassalls made, who were borne Lords.

5

Some (who pretend to witt); (Some, I have knowne)
Imagine all the height
Of witt, in the Conceipt
Of formall Trifles; these are often Showne
To common Eyes; who for
It pussles them, admire;
And get a Copie, more
To sooth, then to Desire
Any thing tasting witt; these frequent are,
In this witt-venting Age, where none want Share.

6

How some racke all their Faculties? and Squeese
The Juice, of all their Braine!
In a fastidious Straine
Of words to pussle Men; and can but please
Themselves, with a thin Ayre.
What trifle can wee name,
Soe barren, or soe bare?
Be it an Anagram,
To stifle all the Life of common witt,
But busies some Men, to be proud in it?

7

Of these, not three I ever saw, has hit
Within the roade of Sence;
Nay give em their pretence,
The Latitude they aske. How below witt
They Stand, I dare not Say;
Lest I be challenged;
Uncapable, that way;
For I am soe indeed:
And tis a Qualitie I not admitt
Within the Region of a noble witt.