So much to the liberal critics;—what shall I say
to the illiberal?
Rake, if you please, the kennel of your brains,
And pour forth all the loaded head contains;
I shall not suffer by it, I am sure!—
Nay, my poetic plants will better thrive;
Exalt their heads and smile—be all alive;
As mud is very excellent manure.
Brother authors, attend unto the wisdom of Peter.
Are the cries of the malevolent and envious against
you? Be silent, and let your works fight their own
battle. Are they good for nothing? Let them die.
Possess they merit? They need not be afraid.—Bid
your minds then sit calmly on their thrones, amidst
the hurly burly of critical attacks.
Go take a lesson from the glorious sun,
Who, when the elements together run
In wild confusion—earth and wind and water,
Looks on the tumult down without dismay,
Nay, bright and smiling—seeming thus to say,
‘Lord! bustling gentlefolk, pray what's the matter?’
