Classic Poem

Thy Books shou'd, like thy Friends, not many be,
Yet such wherein Men may thy Judgment see.
In Numbers ev'n of Counsellors, the Wise
Maintain, that dangerous Distraction lies.
Then aim not at a Croud, but still confine
Thy Choice to such as do the Croud out-shine.
Such as thy vacant Hours may entertain,
And be thy Pastime, not thy Life constrain;
Not dark, mysterious, crabbed, or morose,
Useless, and void, or stupidly Verbose,
Tho' witty, yet judicious and sincere,
And like true Friends, still faithful, tho' severe;
Books that may prove, in ev'ry Change of State,
Guides and Assistants to your shifting Fate:
That may to Virtue form your early Soul,
And the first Thought of unripe Guilt controul.
Friends, whose sage Wit, call'd up at each Extream,
May help you to converse on ev'ry Theme;
And when retir'd from Business, and alone,
Delight you with their Talk, and spare your own.
Make short the Season of the restless Night,
And force dull Hours to mend their ling'ring Flight.
Then, wheresoe'er your wand'ring Steps you guide,
May travel with you, and close up your Side:
Relieve you from the Pageantry of Courts,
Their gawdy Fopp'ries, and their irksom Sports:
Or, if some dire Necessity require,
With you to Dungeons for your Aid retire.
And still, like Friends, your Sadness to prevent
In Prison, Want, Distress, or Banishment.

Like Friends, it matters not how great, but good;
Not how long known, but how well understood:
Imports not, though without they old appear,
If new and just the Thoughts within 'em are:
So that, like old Friends, still they ready be,
Open at Will, and of Instruction free;
Whose faithful Counsel soars above the Art
Of servil Flatt'ry, to seduce the Heart:
But its instructive, honest Dictates lends,
Void of Design, or mercenary Ends.
Unlike most other Friends, less tiresome too,
As with them still you more acquainted grow.