 | Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose |  |
93
UPON MODERN CRITICS
I
'Tis well, that equal Heav'n has plac'dThose Joys above, that, to reward
The Just and virtuous, are prepar'd,
Beyond their reach, until their Pains are past;
Else Men would rather venture to possess
By force, than earn their Happiness;
And only take the Dev'ls advice,
As Adam did, how soonest to be wise,
Though at th' expence of Paradise.
For, as some say, to fight is but a base
Mechanic Handy-work, and far below
A gen'rous Spirit t' undergo:
So 'tis to take the Pains to know,
Which some, with only Confidence and Face,
More easily and ably do;
For daring Nonsense seldom fails to hit,
Like scatter'd Shot, and pass with some for Wit.
Who would not rather make himself a Judge,
And boldly usurp the Chair,
Than with dull Industry and Care
Endure to study, think, and drudge
For that, which he much sooner may advance
With obstinate, and pertinacious Ignorance?
II
For all Men challenge, tho' in spiteOf Nature and their Stars, a Right
To censure, judge, and know;
Tho' she can only order who
Shall be, and who shall ne'er be wise:
Then why should those, whom she denies
Her favour and good graces to,
Not strive to take Opinion by surprize,
And ravish, what it were in vain to woo?
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The censure of all Wits and Arts,
Tho' without Judgment, Skill, and Parts,
Only to startle and amuse,
And mask his Ignorance (as Indians use
With gawdy colour'd Plumes
Their homely nether Parts t' adorn)
Can never fail to captive some,
That will submit to his oraculous Doom,
And rev'rence what they ought to scorn;
Admire his sturdy confidence
For solid Judgment, and deep Sense;
And credit purchas'd without Pains or Wit,
Like stolen Pleasures, ought to be most sweet.
III
Two Self-admirers, that combineAgainst the World, may pass a Fine
Upon all Judgment, Sense, and Wit,
And settle it, as they think fit,
On one another, like the Choice
Of Persian Princes by one Horse's Voice.
For those fine Pageants, which some raise,
Of false and disproportion'd Praise,
T' enable whom they please t' appear,
And pass for what they never were,
In private only b'ing but nam'd,
Their Modesty, must be asham'd,
And not endure to hear;
And yet may be divulg'd and fam'd,
And own'd in public every where:
So vain some Authors are to boast
Their want of Ingenuity, and club
Their affidavit Wits, to dub
Each other but a Knight o' th' Post,
As false as suborn'd Perjurers,
That vouch away all right, they have to their own Ears.
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IV
But when all other Courses fail,There is one easy Artifice,
That seldom has been known to miss,
To cry all Mankind down, and rail:
For he, whom all Men do contemn,
May be allow'd to rail again at them,
And in his own Defence
To outface Reason, Wit, and Sense,
And all, that makes against himself, condemn;
To snarle at all Things right or wrong,
Like a mad Dog, that has a Worm in's Tongue;
Reduce all Knowledge back of Good and Evil,
T' its first Original the Devil;
And, like a fierce Inquisitor of Wit,
To spare no Flesh, that ever spoke, or writ;
Tho' to perform his Task as dull,
As if he had a Toad-stone in his Scull,
And could produce a greater Stock
Of Maggots than a pastoral Poet's Flock.
V
The feeblest Vermin can destroy,As sure as stoutest Beasts of Prey;
And only with their Eyes and Breath
Infect, and poyson Men to death:
But that more impotent Buffoon,
That makes it both his Bus'ness, and his Sport
To rail at all, is but a Drone,
That spends his Sting on what he cannot hurt,
Enjoys a kind of Letchery in Spight,
Like o'ergrown Sinners, that in whipping take Delight,
Invades the Reputation of all those,
That have, or have it not to lose;
And if he chance to make a Difference,
'Tis always in the wrongest Sense:
As rooking Gamesters never lay
Upon those Hands, that use fair Play;
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Upon the Slurs, and cunning Tricks of ablest Cheats.
VI
Nor does he vex himself much lessThan all the World beside,
Falls sick of other Mens Excess,
Is humbled only at their Pride,
And wretched at their Happiness;
Revenges on himself the Wrong,
Which his vain Malice and loose Tongue
To those, that feel it not, have done;
And whips and spurs himself, because he is outgone;
Makes idle Characters and Tales,
As counterfeit, unlike, and false,
As Witches Pictures are of Wax and Clay
To those, whom they would in Effigie slay.
And as the Devil, that has no Shape of's own,
Affects to put the ugliest on,
And leaves a Stink behind him, when he's gone;
So he, that's worse than nothing, strives t' appear
I' th' likeness of a Wolf or Bear,
To fright the weak; but, when Men dare
Encounter with him, stinks, and vanishes to air.
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