The Poems of John Byrom | ||
222
ON SPECIOUS AND SUPERFICIAL WRITERS.
How rare the Case, tho' common the Pretence,To write on Subjects from a real Sense!
'Tis many a celebrated Author's Fate
To print Effusions just as Parrots prate.
He moulds a Matter that he once was taught,
In various shapes, and thinks it to be Thought.
Words at Command he marshals in Array,
And proves whatever he is pleas'd to say;
While Learning like a Torrent pours along,
And sweeps away the Subject, right or wrong,
One follows for a while a rolling Theme,
Toss'd in the middle of the rapid Stream,
Till out of Sight, with like impetuous Force
Torn from its Roots, another takes the Course;
While Froth and Bubble glaze the flowing Mud,
And the Man thinks all clear and understood.
223
Makes the slight-witted Reader think so too.
It entertains him, and the Book is bought,
Read, and admir'd without Expense of Thought;
No Tax impos'd upon his Wits, his Cash
Paid without Scruple, he enjoys the Trash.
The Poems of John Byrom | ||