Classic Poem

I.

The Witty Lines you call your own,
Are more, for their Wit, your Disgrace;
By which, your Folly more is shown,
Who wou'd, for others Wit, get Praise;
The Libel made by Wits, on Vain Fools, so
You make your own, by Vanity, you show;

II.

Thus Handsome Brats, whom Foul Sires own,
The more for theirs, they'd have 'em pass,
Make Sense, and Beauties, of the Son,
More the vain Owning Fool's Disgrace;
Who, more the Brat's True Wit, True Shapes appear,
Show, they but less their True Begotten were;

III.

Yet the Sharp Lines you boast of so.
Which so, both Knaves and Fools expose,
Had ne'er been made sure, but for you,
As all the Court and City knows;
Their Author thus, in some Sense, are you then,
As most (indeed) you have their Subject been;

IV.

By th' Libel's Wit, and Truth, 'tis shown,
'Twas made on you, not by you; so,
Yet more your Shame, the Libel's grown,
But as the more 'tis own'd by you;
Since Fools are not expos'd for Want of Wit,
So much, as for their Vain Pretence to it.