Classic Poem

When the viper has vented its venom, 'tis said,
That the fat heals the wound which the poison has made
Thus fares it with blockheads whenever they write,
Their dullness an antidote proves to their spight.
But had sense and keen satire attended the strain,
That sense and keen satire had still been in vain;
For ill-manag'd wit, like a suicide's sword,
Turns its virulent point on the heart of its lord.
And since Charles leads a life undeserving of blame,
Detraction is only a foil to his fame.