A pretty task! and so I told the Fool, Who needs would undertake to please by Rule: He thought that, if his Characters were good, The Scenes entire, and freed from noise and bloud; The Action great, yet circumscrib'd by Time, The Words not forc'd, but sliding into Rhime, The Passions rais'd and calm'd by just Degrees, As Tides are swell'd, and then retire to Seas; He thought in hitting these his bus'ness done, Though he perhaps has fail'd in ev'ry one: 10 But, after all, a Poet must confess, His Art's, like Physick, but a happy ghess. Your Pleasure on your Fancy must depend: The Lady's pleas'd, just as she likes her Friend. No Song! no Dance! no Show! he fears you'l say: You love all naked Beauties, but a Play. He much mistakes your methods to delight; And, like the @3French@1, abhors our Target-fight: But those damn'd Dogs can never be i' th' right. True @3English@1 hate your Monsieur's paltry Arts, For you are all Silk-weavers, in your hearts. Bold @3Brittons@1, at a brave Bear-garden Fray, Are rouz'd; and, clatt'ring Sticks, cry, @3Play, play, play.@1 Meantime, your filthy Forreigner will stare, And mutter to himself, @3Ha gens Barbare@1! And, Gad, 'tis well he mutters; well for him; Our Butchers else would tear him limb from limb. 'Tis true, the time may come, your Sons may be Infected with this @3French@1 civility: But this in After-ages will be done: Our Poet writes a hundred years too soon. This Age comes on too slow, or he too fast; And early Springs are subject to a blast! Who would excel, when few can make a Test Betwixt indiff'rent Writing and the best? For Favours cheap and common, who wou'd strive, Which, like abandoned Prostitutes, you give? Yet scatter'd here and there, I some behold, Who can discern the Tinsel from the Gold: To these he writes; and, if by them allow'd, 'Tis their Prerogative to rule the Crowd. 41 For he more fears (like a presuming Man) Their Votes who cannot judge, than theirs who can. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNT THAT DAY LOST by MARY ANN EVANS EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS OF TREASON by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS BEAUTIFUL MEALS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE ALLEY. AN IMITATION OF SPENSER by ALEXANDER POPE THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS' by SARA TEASDALE REMINDER by INDRAN AMIRTHANAYAGAM I SHALL HAVE PEACE AGAIN (WRITTEN AFTER READING 'RIDERS TO THE SEA' by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY |