To Nysus

How shall we please this age? If in a song
We put above six lines, they count it long;
If we contract it to an epigram,
As deep the dwarfish poetry they damn;
If we write plays, few see above an act,
And those lewd masks, or noisy fops, distract:
Let us write satire then, and at our ease
Vex th'ill-natur'd fools we cannot please.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.