A Session 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.And5Therefore the wits of the town came thither,'Twas strange to see how they flocked together,Each strongly confident of his own way,Thought to gain the laurel away that day.

There was Selden, and he sate hard by the chair;10Wenman not far off, which was very fair;Sands with Townsend, for they kept no order;Digby and Shillingsworth a little further.AndThere was Lucan's translator too, and he15That makes God speak so big in 's poetry;Selwin and Waller, and Bartlets both the brothers;Jack Vaughan and Porter, and divers others.

The first that broke silence was good old Ben,Prepared before with canary wine, 20And he told them plainly he deserved the bays,For his were called works, where others were but plays.AndBid them remember how he had purg'd the stageOf errors, that had lasted many an age,25And he hoped they did not think the Silent Woman,The Fox and the Alchemist, outdone by no man.

Apollo stopt him there, and bade him not go on,'Twas merit, he said, and not presumptionMust carry 't, at which Ben turned about, 30And in great choler offer'd to go out:ButThose that were there thought it not fitTo discontent so ancient a wit;And therefore Apollo call'd him back again, 35And made him mine host of his own New Inn.

Tom Carew was next, but he had a faultThat would not well stand with a laureat;His muse was hide-bound, and th' issue of 's brainWas seldom brought forth but with trouble and pain. 40AndAll that were present there did agree,A laureat muse should be easy and free,Yet sure 'twas not that, but 'twas thought that, his graceConsider'd, he was well he had a cup-bearer's place.45

Will. Davenant, asham'd of a foolish mischanceThat he had got lately travelling in France,Modestly hoped the handsomeness of 's museMight any deformity about him excuse.And 50Surely the company would have been content,If they could have found any precedent;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, 55But first they would see how his snow would sell:Will. smil'd and swore in their judgments they went less,That concluded of merit upon success.

Suddenly taking his place again,He gave way to Selwin, who straight stept in,60But, 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 somebody's ear;When he had the honour to be nam'd in court,65But, sir, you may thank my Lady Carlisle for 't:

For had not her care furnisht you outWith something of handsome, without all doubtYou and your sorry Lady Muse had beenIn the number of those that were not let in.70

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 comeWithout them, th' had scarce been let into the room.

Suckling next was call'd, but did not appear,75But strait one whisper'd 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 hitAt bowls, above all the trophies of wit;80But Apollo was angry, and publiquely said,'Twere fit that a fine were set upon 's head.

Wat Montague now stood forth to his trial,And did not so much as suspect a denial;But witty Apollo asked him first of all,85If he understood his own pastoral.

For, if he could do it, 'twould plainly appearHe understood more than any man there,And did merit the bays above all the rest,But the Monsieur was modest, and silence confest.90

During these troubles, in the court was hidOne 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.

Then Murray was summon'd, but 'twas urg'd that he 95Was chief already of another company.

Hales set by himself most gravely did smileTo see them about nothing keep such a coil;Apollo had spied him, but knowing his mindPassed by, and call'd Falkland that sate just behind.100ButHe 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. 105

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,

He openly declared that it was the best sign 110Of good store of wit, to have good store of coin;And without a syllable more or less said,He put the laurel on the Alderman's head.

At this all the wits were in such a mazeThat for a good while they did nothing but gaze 115One upon another: not a man in the placeBut had discontent writ in great in his face.

Only the small poets cheer'd up again,Out of hope, as 'twas thought, of borrowing;But sure they were out, for he forfeits his crown, 120When he lends any poets about the town.