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And here embrace, ye teachers, this advice;
Not to be too inquisitively nice,
But till the soul enlarg'd in strength appears,
Indulge the boy, and spare his tender years;
'Till, to ripe judgment and experience brought,
Himself discerns and blushes at a fault;
For if the criticks eyes too strictly pierce,
To point each blemish out in every verse,
Void of all hope the stripling may depart
And turn his genius to another art.
But if resolv'd his darling faults to see,
A youth of genius should apply to me,
And court my elder judgment to peruse
Th' imperfect labours of his infant muse;
I should not scruple with a candid eye,
To read and praise his verses to the sky;
With seeming rapture on each line to pause,
And dwell on each expression with applause.
But when my praises had inflam'd his Mind,
If some lame verse limp'd slowly up behind;

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