FRIEND, I must grieve your poems injur'd be By that rare vice in poets, modesty. If you dislike the issues of your pen, You have invention, but no judgment then. You able are to write, but'tis as true, Those that were there can judge as well as you. You only think your gold adulterate, When every scale of judgment finds it weight, And every touchstone perfect. This I'll say, You contradict the name of your own play. You are no lover of the lines you writ, Yet you are jealous still of your own wit. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DARK HOUSE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE MASTER BLACKSMITH by ARNOLD ANDREWS THE CLINGING VINE by ANTIPATER OF SIDON WOMEN'S WAR THOUGHTS by MARY HUNTER AUSTIN THE INNOCENT MAGICIAN; OR, A CHARM AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES |