Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/161

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Who living, all the Muses Treasure spent,As if they him, their Heire, not Steward meant.Forrests of Mirtle, he disforrested,That neere to Helicon their shades did spred;Like Moderne Lords, w'are so of Rent bereft;Poets, and they, have nought but Titles left:He wasted all in Wreaths, for's conqu'ring Wit;Which was so strong, as nought could conquer itBut's Judgment's force, and that more rul'd the senseOf what he writ, than's Fancy's vaste expence.Of that hee still was lavishly profuse;For joyne the remnant-Wealth of ev'ry Muse,And t'will not pay the Debt wee owe to thee,For honours done unto his Memory:Thus then, he brought th'Estate into decay,With which, this Debt, wee as his Heires should pay.As sullen Heires, when wastefull Fathers die,Their old Debts leave for their PosteritieTo cleere; and the remaining Akers striveT'enjoy, to keepe them pleasant whilst alive;So I (alas!) were to my selfe unkinde,If from that little Wit, he left behinde,

I simply

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