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Poem	LXV. — TO MY MUSE. Away, and leave me, thou thing most abhorr'd That hast betray'd me to a worthless lord ; Made me commit most fierce idolatry To a great image through thy luxury : Be thy next master's more unlucky muse, And, as thou'st mine, his hours and youth abuse, Get him the time's long grudge, the court's ill will ; And reconcil'd, keep him suspected still. Make him lose all his friends ; and, which is worse, Almost all ways to any better course. With me thou leav'st an happier muse than thee, And which thou brought'st me, welcome poverty : She shall instruct my after-thoughts to write Things manly, and not smelling parasite. But I repent me : stay — Whoe'er is raised, For worth he has not, he is tax'd not praised.
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