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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419814" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epilogue to The Husband His Own Cuckold</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit, <br>So trembles a young poet at a full pit. <br>Unused to crowds, the parson quakes for fear, <br>And wonders how the devil he durst come there; <br>Wanting three talents needful for the place, <br>Some beard, some learning, and some little grace. <br>Nor is the puny poet void of care; <br>For authors, such as our new authors are, <br>Have not much learning, nor much wit to spare; <br>And as for grace, to tell the truth, there's scarce one, <br>But has as little as the very parson: <br>Both say, they preach and write for your instruction; <br>But 'tis for a third day, and for induction. <br>The difference is, that though you like the play, <br>The poet's gain is ne'er beyond his day; <br>But with the parson 'tis another case, <br>He, without holiness, may rise to grace; <br>The poet has one disadvantage more, <br>That if his play be dull, he's damned all o'er, <br>Not only a damn'd blockhead, but damn'd poor. <br>But dulness well becomes the sable garment; <br>I warrant that ne'er spoiled a priest's preferment; <br>Wit's not his business, and as wit now goes, <br>Sirs, 'tis not so much yours as you suppose, <br>For you like nothing now but nauseous beaux. <br>You laugh not, gallants, as by proof appears, <br>At what his beauship says, but what he wears; <br>So 'tis your eyes are tickled, not your ears. <br>The tailor and the furrier find the stuff, <br>The wit lies in the dress, and monstrous muff. <br>The truth on 't is, the payment of the pit <br>Is like for like, clipt money for clipt wit. <br>You cannot from our absent author hope, <br>He should equip the stage with such a fop. <br>Fools change in England, and new fools arise; <br>For, though the immortal species never dies, <br>Yet every year new maggots make new flies. <br>But where he lives abroad, he scarce can find <br>One fool, for million that he left behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</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=419814" data-title="Epilogue to The Husband His Own Cuckold de John Dryden" data-description="Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit, 
So trembles a young poet at a full pit. 
Unused to crowds, the parson quakes for fear, 
And wonders how the devil he durst come there; 
Wanting three talents needful for the place, 
Some beard, some..."></div>
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