Classic Poem

Your comic writer is a common foe;
None can intrigue in peace, or be a beau;
Nor wanton wife nor widow can be sped,
Not even Russel can inter the dead,
But straight this censor, in his whim of wit,
Strips and presents you naked to the pit.
Thus critics should, like these, be branded foes,
Who for the poison only suck the rose;
Snarling and carping, without wit or sense,
Impeach mistakes, o'er looking excellence,
As if to ev'ry sop it might belong,
Like senators, to censure right or wrong.
But gen'rous minds have more heroic views,
And love and honour are the themes they chuse.
From yon' bright heav'n our author fetch'd his fire,
And paints the passions that your eyes inspire;
Full of that flame, his tender scenes he warms,
And frames his goddess by your matchless charms.