The ancient poets and their learned rimes
We still admire in these our later times,
And celebrate their fames. Thus, though they die,
Their names can never taste mortality:
Blind Homer's muse and Virgil's stately verse,5
While any live, shall never need a herse.
Since then to these such praise was justly due
For what they did, what shall be said to you?
These had their helps: they writ of gods and kings,
Of temples, battles, and such gallant things;10
But you of nothing: how could you have writ,
Had you but chose a subject to your wit?
To praise Achilles, or the Trojan crew,
Shewed little art, for praise was but their due.
To say she's fair that's fair, this is no pains:15
He shows himself most poet, that most feigns.
To find out virtues strangely hid in me;
Ay, there's the art and learned poetry!
To make one striding of a barbed steed,
Prancing a stately round—I use indeed20
To ride Bat Jewel's jade—this is the skill,
This shows the poet wants not wit at will.
I must admire aloof, and for my part
Be well contented, since you do 't with art.