the _Numbers_ which could call
The _Stones_ into the _Theban_ Wall.
Such _Miracles_ are ceas'd, and now we see
No _Towns_ or _Houses_ rais'd by _Poetry.

V.

Yet 'tis not to adorn, and gild each Part,
That shews more _Cost_ than _Art_.
_Jewels_ at _Nose_, and _Lips_, but ill appear;
Rather than _all Things Wit_, let _none_ be there.
Several _Lights_ will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt; because they stand so thick i' th' Sky.
If those be _Stars_ which paint the _Galaxy_.

VI.

'Tis not when two like Words make up one Noise;
Jests for _Dutch Men_, and _English Boys_.
In which, who finds out _Wit_, the same may see
In _An'grams_ and _Acrostiques Poetry_.
Much less can that have any Place,
At which a _Virgin_ hides her Face;
Such _Dross_ the _Fire_ must purge away; 'Tis just
The _Author blush_, there where the _Reader_ must.

VII.

'Tis not such _Lines_ as almost crack the _Stage_,
When _Bajazet_ begins to rage;
Not a tall _Metaphor_ in th' _bombast Way_,
Nor the dry Chips of short-lung'd _Seneca_.
Nor upon all Things to obtrude,
And force some odd _Similitude_.
What is it then, which like the _Pow'r Divine_,
We only can by _Negatives_ define?

VIII.

In a true Piece of _Wit_, all Things must be,
Yet all Things there _agree_;
As in the _Ark_, join 'd without Force or Strife,
All _Creatures_ dwelt; all _Creatures_ that had Life.
Or as the _primitive Forms_ of all,
(If we compare great Things with small)
Which without _Discord_ or _Confusion_ lie,
In the strange _Mirror_ of the _Deity_.

IX.

But _Love_, that moulds _one Man_ up out of _two_,
Makes me forget, and injure you.
I took _You_ for _Myself_, sure when I thought
That You in any thing were to be taught.
Correct my Error with thy Pen,
And if any ask me then,
What thing right _Wit_, and Height of _Genius_ is,
I'll only shew your _Lines_, and say, _'Tis this_.

The _Spirit_ and _Wit_ of this _Ode_ are excellent; and yet it is
evident, through the whole, that Mr. _Cowley_ had no clear Idea of
_Wit_, though at the same time it _shines_ in most of these Lines:
There is little Merit in saying what WIT _is not_, which is the chief
Part of this _Ode_. Towards the End, he indeed attempts to describe what
_it is_, but is quite vague and perplex'd in his Description; and at
last, inste