Some few, from wit, have this true maxim got, That 'tis still better to be pleased than not, And therefore never their own torment plot; While the malicious critics still agree To loathe each play they come, and pay, to see. The first know 'tis a meaner part of sense To find a fault than taste an excellence; Therefore they praise and strive to like, while these Are dully vain of being hard to please. Poets and women have an equal right To hate the dull, who, dead to all delight, Feel pain alone, and have no joy but spite. 'Twas impotence did first this vice begin: Fools censure wit as old men rail of sin, Who envy pleasure which they cannot taste, And, good for nothing, would be wise at last. Since therefore to the women it appears That all these enemies of wit are theirs, Our poet the dull herd no longer fears. Whate'er his fate may prove, 'twill be his pride To stand or fall with beauty on his side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP CYNTHIA SPORTING by PHILIP AYRES KLAMATH SUMMER by VIRGINIA WHITE BROWN TO MR. MACKENZIE, SURGEON by ROBERT BURNS OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 14. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE TENTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |