90
SATYR.
For, though thy Works are written in despite
Of all good Sense, impertinent, and slight,
They never have been known to stand in need
Of Stationer to sell, or Sot to read.
85 For, so the Rhime be at the Verse's End,
No matter whither all the rest do's tend.
Unhappy is that Man, who, spite of's Heart,
Is forc'd to be ty'd up to Rules of Art.
A Fop that scribbles, does it with Delight,
90 Takes no Pains to consider, what to write;
But, fond of all the Nonsense he brings forth,
Is ravish'd with his own great Wit and Worth.
While brave and noble Writers vainly strive
To such a Height of Glory to arrive:
95 But still, with all they do unsatisfy'd,
Ne'er please themselves, though all the World beside,
And those, whom all Mankind admire for Wit,
With for their own Sakes, they had never writ,
Thou then, that see'st how ill I spend my Time,
100 Teach me for Pity, how to make a Rhime;
And, if th' Instructions chance to prove in vain,
Teach—how ne'er to write again.
Of all good Sense, impertinent, and slight,
They never have been known to stand in need
Of Stationer to sell, or Sot to read.
85 For, so the Rhime be at the Verse's End,
No matter whither all the rest do's tend.
Unhappy is that Man, who, spite of's Heart,
Is forc'd to be ty'd up to Rules of Art.
A Fop that scribbles, does it with Delight,
90 Takes no Pains to consider, what to write;
But, fond of all the Nonsense he brings forth,
Is ravish'd with his own great Wit and Worth.
While brave and noble Writers vainly strive
To such a Height of Glory to arrive:
95 But still, with all they do unsatisfy'd,
Ne'er please themselves, though all the World beside,
And those, whom all Mankind admire for Wit,
With for their own Sakes, they had never writ,
Thou then, that see'st how ill I spend my Time,
100 Teach me for Pity, how to make a Rhime;
And, if th' Instructions chance to prove in vain,
Teach—how ne'er to write again.
