A Sessions of the Poets.

A Session was held the other day▪
And Apollo himself was at it (they say)
The Laurel that had been so long reserv'd,
Was now to be given to him best deserv'd.

And
Therefore the wits of the Town came thither,
T was strange to see how they flocked together,
Each strongly confident of his own way,
Thought to gain the Laurel away that day.

There Selden, and he sate hard by the chair;
Weniman not far off, which was very fair;
Sands with Townsend, for they kept no order;
Digby and Shillingsworth a little further:

And
There was Lucans Translator too, and he
That makes God speak so bigge in's Poetry;
Selwin and Walter, and Bartlets both the brothers;
Jack Vaughan and Porter, and divers others.

The first that broke silence was good old Ben,
Prepar'd before with Canary wine,
And he told them plainly he deserv'd the Bayes,
For his were calld Works, where others were but Plaies.

And
Bid them remember how he had purg'd the Stage
Of errors, that had lasted many an Age,
And he hopes they did not think the silent Woman,
The Fox, and the Alchymist out done by no man.

Apollo stopt him there, and bade him not go on,
'Twas merit, he said, and not presumption
Must carry't; at which Ben turned about,
And in great choler offer'd to go out:

But
Those that were there thought it not fit
To discontent so ancient a wit;
And therefore Apollo call'd him back agen,
And made him mine host of his own new Inne.

Tom Carew was next, but he had a fault
That would not well stand with a Laureat;
His Muse was hard bound, and th'issue of's brain
Was seldom brought forth but with trouble and pain.

And
All that were present there did agree,
A Laureat Muse should be easie and free,
Yet sure 'twas not that, but 'twas thought that his Grace
Consider'd he was well he had a Cup-bearers place.

Will. Davenant asham'd of a foolish mischance
That he had got lately travelling in France,
Modestly hoped the handsomnesse of's Muse
Might any deformity about him excuse.

And
Surely the Company would have been content,
If they could have found any President;
But in all their Records either in Verse or Prose,
There was not one Laureat without a nose.

To Will Bartlet sure all the wits meant well,
But first they would see how his snow would sell:
Will smil'd and swore in their judgements they went lesse,
That concluded of merit upon successe.

Suddenly taking his place agen,
He gave way to Selwin, who streight stept in;
But alas! he had been so lately a wit,
That Apollo hardly knew him yet.

Toby Mathews (pox on him) how came he there?
Was whispering nothing in some-bodies ear:
When he had the honour to be nam'd in Court,
But Sir, you may thank my Lady Carleil for't:

For had not her care furnisht you out
With something of handsome, without all doubt
You and your sorry Lady Muse had been
In the number of those that were not let in.

In haste from the Court two or three came in,
And they brought letters (forsooth) from the Queen,
'Twas discreetly done too, for if th'had come
Without them, th'had scarce been let into the room.

Suckling next was call'd, but did not appear,
But strait one whisperd Apollo i'th 'ear,
That of all men living he cared not for't,
He loved not the Muses so well as his sport;

And prized black eyes, or a lucky hit
At bowls, above all the Trophies of wit;
But Apollo was angry, and publiquely said
'Twere fit that a fine were set upon's head.

Wat Montague now stood forth to his tryal,
And did not so much as suspect a denial;
But witty Apollo asked him first of all
If he understood his own Pastoral.

For if he could do it, 't would plainly appear
He understood more than any man there,
And did merit the Bayes above all the rest,
But the Mounsier was modest, and silence confest.

During these troubles in the Court was hid
One that Apollo soon mist, little Cid;
And having spied him, call'd him out of the throng,
And advis'd him in his ear not to write so strong.

Murrey was summon'd, but 't was urg'd that he
Was Chief already of another Company.

Hales set by himself most gravely did smile
To see them about nothing keep such a coil;
Apollo had spied him, but knowing his mind
Past by, and call'd Faulkland that sate just behind:

But
He was of late so gone with Divinity,
That he had almost forgot his Poetry,
Though to say the truth (and Apollo did know it)
He might have been both his Priest and his Poet.

At length who but an Alderman did appear,
At which Will. Davenant began to swear;
But wiser Apollo bade him draw nigher,
And when he was mounted a little higher

Openly declared that the best signe
Of good store of wit 's to have good store of coyn,
And without a Syllable more or lesse said,
He put the Laurel on the Aldermans head.

At this all the wits were in such a maze
That for a good while they did nothing but gaze
One upon another, not a man in the place
But had discontent writ in great in his face.

Onely the small Poets clear'd up again,
Out of hope as 't was thought of borrowing,
But sure they were out▪ for he forfeits his Crown
When he lends any Poets about the Town.