Men, if you love us, play no more The fools or tyrants with your friends, To make us still sing o'er and o'er, Our own false praises, for your ends: We have both wits, and fancies too, And if we must, let's sing of you. Nor do we doubt, but that we can, If we would search with care and pain, Find some one good, in some one man; So going thorow all your strain; We shall, at last, of parcels make One good enough for a song's sake. And as a cunning painter takes In any curious piece you see More pleasure while the thing he makes Then when 'tis made, why so will we. And having pleased our art, we'll try To make a new, and hang that by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN NET by WILLIAM BLAKE THE WATER CROWVOOT by WILLIAM BARNES ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT OF FIVE DAYS OLD by ELIZABETH BOYD TO M. S. G. (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON INFANTRY by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE SIEGE OF KAZAN; TARTAR SONG by ALEXANDER BOREJKO CHODZKO |