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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391887" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To my Friend Mr. John Fletcher, upon his Faithful Sheperdess</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know too well, that, no more than the man,<br>That travels through the burning desarts, can,<br>When he is beaten with the raging sun,<br>Half-smother'd with the dust, have power to run<br>From a cool river, which himself doth find,<br>Ere he be slaked; no more can he, whose mind<br>Joys in the Muses hold from that delight,<br>When Nature and his full thoughts bid him write.<br>Yet wish I those, whom I for friends have known,<br>To sing their thoughts to no ears but their own.<br>Why should the man, whose wit ne'er had a stain,<br>Upon the public stage present his vein,<br>And make a thousand men in judgment sit,<br>To call in question his undoubted wit,<br>Scarce two of which can understand the laws<br>Which they should judge by, nor the, party's cause?<br>Among the rout, there is not one that hath<br>In his own censure an explicit faith;<br>One company, knowing they judgment lack,<br>Ground their belief onthe next man in black;<br>Others, on him that makes signs, and is mute;<br>Some like, as he does in the fairest suit;<br>He, as his mistress doth; and she, by chance;<br>Nor want there those, who, as the boy doth dance<br>Between the acts, will censure the whole play;<br>Some like if the wax-lights be new that day;<br>But multitudes there are, whose judgment goes<br>Headlong according to the actors' clothes.<br>For this, these public things and I agree<br>So ill, that, but to do a right to thee,<br>I had not been persuaded to have hurl'd<br>These few ill-spoken lines into the world;<br>Both to be read and censured of by those<br>Whose very reading makes verse senseless prose;<br>Such as must spend above an hour to spell<br>A challenge on a post, to know it well.<br>But since it was thy hap to throw away<br>Much wit, for which the people did not pay,<br>Because they saw it not, I not dislike<br>This second publication, which may strike<br>Their conisciences, to see the thing they scorn'd,<br>To he with so much wit and art adorn'd.<br>Besides, one 'vantage more in this I see,<br>Your censurers must have the quality<br>Of reading, which I am afraid is more<br>Than half your shrewdest judges had before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Beaumont">Francis Beaumont</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391887" data-title="To my Friend Mr. John Fletcher, upon his Faithful Sheperdess de Francis Beaumont" data-description="I know too well, that, no more than the man,
That travels through the burning desarts, can,
When he is beaten with the raging sun,
Half-smother'd with the dust, have power to run
From a cool river, which himself doth find,
Ere he be slaked; no mor..."></div>
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