Poem by Alexander Brome

Palinode

1.

NO more, no more of this, I vow
'Tis time to leave this fooling now,
Which few but fools call Wit;
There was a time when I begun,
And now 'tis time I should have done,
And meddle no more with it.
He Physick's use doth quite mistake,
That Physick takes for Physick's sake.

2.

My heat of youth, and love and pride,
Did swell me with their strong spring-tyde,
Inspir'd my brain and blood,
And made me then converse with toyes,
Which are call'd Muses by the boyes,
And dabble in their flood.
I was perswaded in those dayes,
There was no crown like love and bayes.

3.

But now my youth and pride are gone,
And age and cares come creeping on,
And business checks my love;
What need I take a needless toyle,
To spend my labour, time and oyl,
Since no design can move.
For now the cause is ta'n away,
What reason ist th' effect should stay?

4.

'Tis but a folly now for me,
To spend my time and industry,
About such useless wit;
For when I think I have done well,
I see men laugh, but cannot tell,
Where't be at me, or it.
Great madness 'tis to be a drudge,
When those that cannot write, dare judge.

5.

Besides the danger that ensu'th,
To him that speaks, or writes the truth,
The proemium is so small,
To be called Poet, and wear bayes,
And Factor turn of Songs and Playes,
This it no wit at all.
Wit only good to sport and sing,
's a needless and an endless thing.

6.

Give me the Wit that can't speak sense,
Nor read it, but in's own defence,
Ne'r learn'd but of his Grannum,
He that can buy, and sell, and cheat,
May quickly make a shift to get,
His thousand pound per annum.
And purchase without much ado,
The Poems and the Poet too.

1. To his Mistress (LAdy you'l wonder when you see)
2. The Damosel
3. On the Kings Return
4. Plain Dealing
5. The Wary Woer

Thomas Aldrich Palinode ("Who is Lydia, pray, and who")

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