When simple Macer, now of high renown, <br />First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town, <br />'Twas all th' Ambition his high soul could feel, <br />To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele. <br />Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford, <br />And gave the harmless fellow a good word. <br />Set up with these he ventur'd on the Town, <br />And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown. <br />There he stopp'd short, nor since has write a tittle, <br />But has the wit to make the most of little; <br />Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got <br />Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot. <br />Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends, <br />Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends. <br /> <br />So some coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd, <br />Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid; <br />Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay; <br />She flatters her good Lady twice a day; <br />Thought wond'rous honest, tho' of mean degree, <br />And strangely lik'd for her Simplicity: <br />In a translated Suit, then tries the Town, <br />With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own: <br />But just endur'd the winter she began, <br />And in four months a batter'd Harridan. <br />Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, <br />To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.<br /><br />Alexander Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/macer-a-character/
