The Lady-Errant | ||
On Mr William Cartvvright's excellent Poems.
And
why not I? 'tis now within my Reach,
May not I write as well as others preach?
The Eare and Eye may equally dispense
Verse without Wit, as Sermons without Sense:
And, in good sober sadness, as 'tis made,
The Riming work is much the harder Trade.
May not I write as well as others preach?
The Eare and Eye may equally dispense
Verse without Wit, as Sermons without Sense:
And, in good sober sadness, as 'tis made,
The Riming work is much the harder Trade.
Cartwright, till now, we could have dress'd thy Shrine;
For 'twas but stealing some good Peece of thine;
Swear it our own, subscribe our names unto't,
And heretofore they made no bones to do't,
Who having robb'd thee, cry 'tis Scholar's Wit;
And then the needy Gallants think th' are quit:
(So the Arrested Knight told Standers-by,
These are poor Folk, they come to beg of me.)
Thus Johnson is decry'd by some who fleece
His Works, as much as he did Rome or Greece:
They judge it lawfull Prize, doing no more
To him, than he to those that dy'd before;
Why do they then let Merchants Ships go free,
Who but translate, worse Ware, and worse than He?
These East-and-West-Translators, not like Ben,
Do but enrich Themselves, He other men.
For 'twas but stealing some good Peece of thine;
Swear it our own, subscribe our names unto't,
And heretofore they made no bones to do't,
Who having robb'd thee, cry 'tis Scholar's Wit;
And then the needy Gallants think th' are quit:
(So the Arrested Knight told Standers-by,
These are poor Folk, they come to beg of me.)
Thus Johnson is decry'd by some who fleece
His Works, as much as he did Rome or Greece:
They judge it lawfull Prize, doing no more
To him, than he to those that dy'd before;
Why do they then let Merchants Ships go free,
Who but translate, worse Ware, and worse than He?
These East-and-West-Translators, not like Ben,
Do but enrich Themselves, He other men.
But Thou, nor this, nor those, wert all thine owne;
Thou didst correct old Witts, but pillag'd none.
Thy Wit liv'd free, free as a good man's Mind;
May Poems, but not Poets, be confin'd.
Thou didst correct old Witts, but pillag'd none.
Thy Wit liv'd free, free as a good man's Mind;
May Poems, but not Poets, be confin'd.
Fra: Vaughan.
The Lady-Errant | ||