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Our language, like our merchandize, demands
Perpetual tribute, from a thousand lands.
When harshest style with meanest thoughts is join'd,
Some plaintive plea subdues the reader's mind.
The Bard, perchance, is young, o'erwhelm'd with fears;
Forgive his faults, and spare his tender years.
Or want, not will, inspires his tuneful rage[1];
'Tis alms to buy—you need not read the page.
Perpetual tribute, from a thousand lands.
When harshest style with meanest thoughts is join'd,
Some plaintive plea subdues the reader's mind.
The Bard, perchance, is young, o'erwhelm'd with fears;
Forgive his faults, and spare his tender years.
Or want, not will, inspires his tuneful rage[1];
'Tis alms to buy—you need not read the page.
- ↑ Poverty, so far from being formerly a recommendation to the courtesy of the reader, was regarded, with some cruelty, as a disqualification for writing poetry at all.Quis locus ingenio: nisi cum se carmine solo
Vexant, et dominis Cirrhæ Nisæque feruntur
Pectora nostra, duas non admittentia curas?
Magnæ mentis opus, nec de lodice parandâ
