. . . But to advise thee, Ben, in this strict age, A brick-kiln's better for thee than a stage. Thou better know'st a groundsill for to lay, Than lay the plot or groundwork of a play, And better canst direct to cap a chimney, Than to converse with Clio or Polyhimny. Fall then to work in thy old age again, Take up thy trudge and trowel, gentle Ben, Let plays alone: or if thou needs will write, And thrust thy feeble muse into the light; Let Lowen cease, and Taylor scorn to touch The loathed stage, for thou hast made it such. @3Ben Jonson's Answer@1 Shall the prosperity of a pardon still Secure thy railing rhymes, infamous Gill, At libelling? Shall no Star Chamber peers, Pillory, nor whip, nor want of ears, All which thou hast incurred deservedly; Nor degradation from the ministry, To be the Denis of thy father's school, Keep in thy barking wit, thou bawling fool? Thinking to stir me, thou hast lost thy end; I'll laugh at thee, poor wretched tyke; go send Thy blatant muse abroad, and teach it rather A tune to drown the ballads of thy father: For thou hast naught in thee to cure his fame, But tune and noise, the echo of his shame. A rogue by statute, censured to be whipped, Cropped, branded, slit, neck-stocked; go, you are stripped. |