Come on, ye critics! Find one fault who dare, <br /> For, read it backward like a witch's prayer, <br /> 'Twill do as well; throw not away your jests <br /> On solid nonsense that abides all tests. <br /> Wit, like tierce claret, when 't begins to pall, <br /> Neglected lies and's of no use at all; <br /> But in its full perfection of decay, <br /> Turns vinegar and comes again in play. <br /> This simile shall stand in thy defence <br /> 'Gainst such dull rogues as now and then write sense. <br /> He lies, dear Ned, who says thy brain is barren, <br /> Where deep conceits, like vermin, breed in carrion; <br /> Thou hast a brain, such as thou hast, indeed -- <br /> On what else should thy worm of fancy feed? <br /> Yet in a filbert I have often known <br /> Maggots survive when all the kernel's gone. <br /> Thy style's the same whatever be the theme, <br /> As some digestions turn all meat to phlegm: <br /> Thy stumbling, founder'd jade can trot as high <br /> As any other Pegasus can fly. <br /> As skillful divers to the bottom fall <br /> Sooner than those that cannot swim at all, <br /> So in this way of writing without thinking <br /> Thou hast a strange alacrity in sinking: <br /> Thou writest below e'en thy own natural parts <br /> And with acquired dullness and new arts <br /> Of studied nonsense tak'st kind readers' heart. <br /> So the dull eel moves nimbler in the mud <br /> Than all the swift-finn'd racers of the flood. <br /> Therefore, dear Ned, at my advice forbear <br /> <br /> Such loud complaints 'gainst critics to prefer, <br /> Since thou art turn'd an arrant libeller: <br /> Thou sett'st thy name to what thyself dost write; <br /> Did ever libel yet so sharply bite?<br /><br />Earl of Dorset Charles Sackville<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-mr-edward-howard-on-his-incomparable-incompre/
