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Poem by James Maxwell

9. Postscript; by Way of Application

	Were all the Poets such as these now found,
No matter then how thick they spread the ground;
But now for poets we have poetasters,
Who fill their readers minds with sad disasters;
Only pretenders to the sacred gift,
Who from celestial to infernal shift.
  	Such wound the modest and the pious ear, 
While advocates for Satan they appear. 
Instead of poets sacred to the Muse, 
They all the pure poetic fire abuse.
	Not so the Bards who at the first appeard, 
When God the topstone of Creation reard. 
Then did his sons the sacred Muse employ, 
And to his praise all shouted loud for joy! 
Yea, sacred hymns did evry one compose,
When first the fabric of Creation rose.
	But Satan, envious at the homage paid,
Consulted how Gods kingdom to invade. 
With hellish spite his legions he inspird,
Then all with hopes of victory were fird.
But though in this their enterprize they fell,
And all at once were thunderd down to hell;
Yet for a time permitted are to roar,
And seek throughout this earth whom to devour.
	Now those who are entangled in their chains, 
Become their votaries and spare no pains. 
Some such pretend philosophers to be, 
Some preachers and some poets too we see. 
Such are emissaries by Satan sent,
Who through this world their noisome ison vent. 
These swarm like locusts, and pollute the air 
And catch the heedless youths at unaware. 
But libertines are caught with little guile, 
They take the bait with a contented smile. 
Nay, evn the sager sort are oft deceivd, 
And sometimes of their reason quite bereavd.
	Thus is the Muses fire so much abasd, 
That nothing can be more profanely usd. 
Beware, ye thoughtless, of the gilded bait, 
Nor yield yourselves a prey to hells deceit: 
For sure by hell are those his servants sent, 
And on his errands they are fully bent.
	A serpent first he for this use employd, .
Who quickly Adam and his wife decoyd, 
Thus of a subtile creature he made choice, 
Whom he soon taught to speak with human voice; 
But now of Adams sons he can as well
Instruct to speak the dialect of hell.
These can more plausibly mankind deceive, 
Than eer the serpent could our mother Eve. 
And thus  more easily his end he gains
Than by a serpent, and with half the pains.
Thousands bath he won over in this way, 
And who can tell how many more he may? 
Unless the great Creator with a nod, 
Command them all down to hells dark abode. 
Were told that Satan should be loosd awhile, 
And many thousands on this earth beguile.
Now surely this appears to be the time, 
So many are deceivd by jargon-rhime.

James Maxwell

James Maxwell's other poems:
  1. 6. On L-----------------s Poems. Another A-----sh-----e Bard
  2. 10. Urania. To the Human Muse
  3. 8. An Epitaph on L Poems. By another Hand
  4. 7. To L-----------s Subscribers
  5. 3. 1st Answer to the Foregoing. By------ HAMILTON

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