Classic Poem

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! … hold me or I shall burst;
Could anyone have thought the fellow durst
Abuse a fool so grossly to his face,
Or think to flatter with so ill a grace.

Sir, said the slave, to speak your worth,
Or set your eminent perfections forth,
Some more than common genius does require,
Blest with a Cato or a Virgil's fire;
Yet what I cannot praise, permit me to admire.

Heavens! What a shape is there, how nicely turn'd!
A face, too, how with ev'ry grace adorn'd!
And Heaven, to make its fairest work complete,
Has to those beauties join'd a soul as great.

This is not half, but when he'd made an end
The flatter'd fool embrac'd him, call'd him friend,
Wish'd for an opportunity to show
How much he for so dear a friend could do.

Sir, said the sycophant, there is a place
Now vacant, which I gladly would embrace;
Your business, answer'd t'other, shall be done;
This moment I'll to court about it run.
He fled with eager joy; when I approach'd,
And on the flatt'rer's company encroach'd.
I ask'd him who he was that he so prais'd.
Said he, A wicked villain, who has rais'd
Himself by fraud, by perjury, and all
That we can odious, black, or vicious call.

Amaz'd, I left the monster as I would
Infected persons, or contagious blood.
Such unexpected baseness chang'd my note,
And stopp'd the rising laughter in my throat.
I could have wept; but why do I exclaim?
Mankind, alas, will ever be to blame.
The world will still its vicious courses keep;
Let doting Heraclitus wail and weep;
But while such shoals of fools and knaves there be,
There's store enough of laughter still for me.