Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite, <br />Codrus writes on, and will for ever write, <br />The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone, <br />As clocks run fastest when most lead is on; <br />What tho' no bees around your cradle flew, <br />Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew; <br />Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead <br />When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre. <br />Attentive blocks stand round you and admire. <br />Wit pass'd through thee no longer is the same, <br />As meat digested takes a diff'rent name; <br />But sense must sure thy safest plunder be, <br />Since no reprisals can be made on thee. <br />Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight <br />(Though ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height. <br />So, forced from engines, lead itself can fly, <br />Sure Bavius copied Maevius to the full, <br />And Chaerilus taught Codrus to be dull; <br />Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er <br />This needless labour; and contend no more <br />To prove a dull succession to be true, <br />Since 'tis enough we find it so in you.<br /><br />Alexander Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-author-of-a-poem-entitled-succession/
