Classic Poem

Friend , whether it be wrong , or right ,
In Verse , or Prose I needs must write ;
You may as well oppose the Stream,
For I am doom'd, to blot a Ream ,
Or two of Paper , e'er I dye.
Then to some Purpose write you cry;
Strive to be useful: what avails,
To sing of Love in wanton Tales?
Do something worthy of the Age ,
Or for the Church , or for the Stage .
Translate anew old David 's Lays;
Or rival Otway, Young , or Bays ;
Or else, in a severer Tone,
Tell the mistaken World their own .
Suppose you back some Party 's Cause!
You're sure of Readers , and Applause .
My Friend , I never cou'd take Pains,
Still sporting in light, idle Strains;
I'm Stranger to all State Affairs,
And leave Ambition to my Heirs;
Satire , I've too good Cause to hate ,
Nor have I Patience to Translate:
What e'er I send you, is my own .
So much the worse , you say, and frown.