University of Virginia Library

Why should the World be so averse
To Plagiary Privateers,
That all Mens Sense and Fancy seize,
And make free Prize of what they please?
As if, because they huff and swell,
Like Pilferers full of what they steal,
Others might equal Pow'r assume,
To pay 'em with as hard a Doom;
To shut them up, like Beasts in Pounds,
For breaking into others Grounds;
Mark 'em with Characters and Brands,
Like other Forgers of Mens Hands;
And in Effigie hand and draw
The poor Delinquents by Club-Law;
When no Inditement justly lies,
But where the Theft will bear a Price.

For though Wit never can be learn'd
It may b' assum'd and own'd, and earn'd;
And, like our noblest Fruits, improv'd,
By b'ing transplanted and remov'd:
And as it bears no certain Rate,
Nor pays one Peny to the State,
With which it turns no more t' account
Than Virtue, Faith, and Merit's wont;
Is neither Moveable, nor Rent,
Nor Chattel, Goods, nor Tenement;
Nor was it ever pass'd b' Entail,
Nor settled upon Heirs Male;
Or if it were, like ill-got Land,
Did never fall t' a second Hand;
So 'tis no more to be engross'd,
Than Sun-shine, or the Air inclos'd;
Or to Propriety confin'd,
Than th' uncontrol'd and scatter'd Wind.

For why should that which Nature meant
To owe its Being to its Vent;
That has no Value of its own,
But as it is divulg'd and known;
Is perishable and destroy'd,
As long as it lies unenjoy'd,
Be scanted of that lib'ral Use,
Which all Mankind is free to choose,
And idly hoarded, where 'twas bred,
Instead of being dispers'd and spread?
And the more lavish and profuse,
'Tis of the nobler general Use;
As Riots, though supply'd by Stealth,
Are wholesome to the Commonwealth;
And Men spend freelier what they win,
Than what th' have freely coming in.

The World's as full of curious Wit,
Which those, that father, never writ,
As 'tis of Bastards, which the Sot
And Cuckold owns, that ne'er begot;
Yet pass as well, as if the one
And th' other By-blow were their own.
For why should he that's impotent
To judge, and fancy, and invent,
For that Impediment be stopt
To own, and challenge, and adopt,
At least th' expos'd, and fatherless
Poor Orphans of the Pen, and Press,
Whose Parents are obscure, or dead,
Or in far Countries born and bred.

As none but Kings have Pow'r to raise
A Levy, which the Subject pays;
And, though they call that Tax a Loan,
Yet, when 'tis gather'd, 'tis their own:
So he, that's able to impose
A Wit-excise on Verse or Prose;
And, still the abler Authors are,
Can make them pay the greater Share,
Is Prince of Poets of his Time,
And they his Vassals, that supply him;
Can judge more justly of what he takes
Than any of the best he makes;
And more impartially conceive
What's fit to chuse, and what to leave.
For Men reflect more strictly upon
The sense of others, than their own;
And Wit, that's made of Wit and Slight,
Is richer than the plain downright:
As Salt, that's made of Salt's more fine,
Than when it first came from the Brine;
And Spirits of a nobler Nature,
Drawn from the dull ingredient Matter.

Hence mighty Virgil's said of old,
From Dung to have extracted Gold;
(As many a Lout and silly Clown,
By his Instructions since has done)
And grew more lofty by that means,
Than by his Livery Oats and Beans;
When from his Carts and Country Farms
He rose a mighty Man at Arms;
To whom th' Heroics ever since
Have sworn Allegiance as their Prince,
And faithfully have in all Times
Observ'd his Customs in their Rhimes.

'Twas counted Learning once and Wit
To void but what some Author writ;
And what Men understood by rote
By as implicit Sense to quote.
Then many a magisterial Clerk
Was taught, like singing Birds i' th' Dark;
And understood as much of Things,
As th' ablest Blackbird what it sings;
And yet was honour'd and renown'd,
For grave, and solid, and profound.
Then why should those, who pick and choose
The best of all the best compose,
And join it by Mosaic Art,
In graceful Order, Part to Part,
To make the whole in Beauty suit,
Not Merit as compleat Repute
As those, who with less Art and Pains
Can do it with their native Brains,
And make the home-spun Business fit
As freely with their Mother Wit?
Since what by Nature was deny'd
By Art and Industry's supply'd,
Both which are more our own, and brave
Than all the Alms, that Nature gave.
For what w' acquire by Pains and Art
Is only due t' our own Desert;
While all th' Endowments she confers,
Are not so much our own, as hers,
That, like good Fortune, unawares
Fall not t' our Virtue, but our Shares;
And all we can pretend to merit,
We do not purchase, but inherit.

Thus all the great'st Inventions, when
They first were found out, were so mean,
That th' Authors of them are unknown,
As little things they scorn'd to own;
Until by Men of nobler Thought
Th' were to their full Perfection brought.
This proves that Wit does but rough-hew,
Leaves Art to polish, and review;
And that a Wit at second Hand
Has greatest Int'rest and Command:
For to improve, dispose, and judge
Is nobler than t' invent, and drudge.

Invention's humorous and nice,
And never at Command applies;
Disdains t' obey the proudest Wit,
Unless it chance to b' in the Fit;
(Like Prophecy, that can presage
Successes of the latest Age,
Yet is not able to tell when
It next shall prophecy agen)
Makes all her Suitors course and wait
Like a proud Minister of State,
And, when she's serious in some Freak,
Extravagant, and vain, and weak,
Attend her silly, lazy Pleasure,
Until she chance to be at leisure:
When 'tis more easy to steal Wit;
To clip, and forge, and counterfeit,
Is both the Business and Delight,
Like hunting Sports, of those that write;
For Thievery is but one Sort,
The Learned say, of hunting Sport.

Hence 'tis, that some, who set up first
As raw, and wretched, and unverst;
And open'd with a Stock as poor,
As a healthy Beggar with one Sore;
That never writ in Prose or Verse,
But pick'd, or cut it, like a Purse;
And at the best could but commit
The Petty-Larceny of Wit;
To whom to write was to purloin,
And printing but to stamp false Coin;
Yet after long and sturdy 'ndeavours
Of being painful Wit-receivers,
With gath'ring Rags and Scraps of Wit,
As Paper's made, on which 'tis writ,
Have gone forth Authors, and acquir'd
The right—or wrong to be admir'd;
And arm'd with Confidence incurr'd
The Fool's good Luck, to be preferr'd.

For as a Banker can dispose
Of greater Sums, he only owes,
Than he, who honestly is known
To deal in nothing but his own:
So whose'er can take up most,
May greatest Fame and Credit Boast.