Classic Poem

Friend : Your Satyrs, let me tell you, are too fierce;
The Great will never bear so blunt a Verse.
Their Doors are bar'd against a bitter flout:
Snarl, if you please, but you shall snarl without.
Expect such Pay as railing Rhymes deserve,
Y'are in a very hopeful way to sterve.

Persius : Rather than so, uncensur'd let them be:
All, all is admirably well for me.
My harmless Rhyme shall scape the dire disgrace
Of Common-shores, and ev'ry pissing place.
Two painted Serpents shall, on high, appear;
'Tis Holy Ground; you must not Urine here.
This shall be writ to fright the Fry away,
Who draw their little Bawbles, when they play.
Yet old Lucilius never fear'd the times;
But lash'd the City, and dissected Crimes.
Mutius and Lupus both by Name he brought;
He mouth'd em, and betwixt his Grinders caught.
Unlike in method, with conceal'd design,
Did crafty Horace his low numbers joyn:
And with a sly, insinuating Grace,
Laugh'd at his Friend, and look'd him in the Face:
Wou'd raise a Blush, where secret Vice he found;
And tickle, while he gently prob'd the Wound.
With seeming Innocence the Crowd beguil'd;
But made the desperate Passes, when he smil'd.