 | Darius : King of Persia |  |
THE PROLOGUE.
When a young Writer Poetry first wooes,Oh! how he's charm'd with a fond flatt'ring Muse;
Scorns Physick, Law, Divinity; he climbs
To Heaven, by Ladders made o'Ropes o' Rhimes.
Finds Heaven and Gold in Verse, and while he pores,
He pities Judges, Bishops, Chancellors;
They ne'r attain his Joys, they'r Rich, and Great,
But he's above 'em all, for he's a Wit;
A Prince in Verse, and Princes Titles give.
His Pen at will makes Honour dye, or live.
He dubbs this Man a Knave, a Coxcomb that;
Gives any Brow a horny Coronet.
Orders some famous Beauty every hour
His Leters Patents to be call'd a Whore,
Deserv'd, or not, he does it all by Power.
Thus like a Beau, and Bully o' the Town,
He by debauching Beauties gets Renown:
That is, their Names, for he enjoys not one,
Thus was our Poet, by his Muse drawn in;
'Tis true, she always innocent has been,
Kept Shop, like a good creditable Cit,
But traded in damn'd never thriving Wit.
Lawyers have Fees, howe'r their Causes go,
And Parsons with lean Sermons fat can grow.
Of Lawyers your undoing you must buy;
The vilest Quack by ignorance can get,
More than the best of Poets by his Wit.
Then you may ask, Why will the Poet Write?
He says, his Genius bids, and Hours invite.
No lumbring business in his way is laid,
His Life's a private and a vacant Shade;
And with design, both to instruct and please,
He plants the Walks with various Images.
And humbly prays you, if with Art he writes,
You'l not take pains to damn your own Delights.
Nay, do not damn him much, if he writes ill;
For then he writes like you—that is Gentile.
| Darius : King of Persia | |