Page:Horace's Art of Poetry made English - Roscommon (1680).djvu/37

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But every little busie Scribler now
Swells with the praises which he gives himself;
And taking Sanctuary in the Croud,
Brags of his impudence, and scorns to mend.
A wealthy Poet, takes more pains to hire,
A flatring Audience, than poor Tradesmen do
To persuade Customers to buy their goods.
Tis hard to find a Man of great Estate,
That can distinguish flatterers from Friends.
Never delude your self, nor read your Book
Before a brib'd and fawning Auditor;
For hee'l commend and feign an Extasie,
Grow pale or weep, do any thing to please;
True friends appear less mov'd than Counterfeit;
As men that truly grieve at Funerals,
Are not so loud, as those that cry for hire;
Wise were the Kings, who never chose a Friend
Till with full Cups they had unmask'd his Soul,

And