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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419848" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Prologue to Caesar Borgia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The unhappy man, who once has trailed a pen, <br>Lives not to please himself, but other men; <br>Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood, <br>Yet only eats and drinks what you think good. <br>What praise soe'er the poetry deserve, <br>Yet every fool can bid the poet starve. <br>That fumbling lecher to revenge is bent, <br>Because he thinks himself, or whore, is meant: <br>Name but a cuckold, all the city swarms; <br>From Leadenhall to Ludgate is in arms. <br>Were there no fear of Antichrist, or France, <br>In the best time poor poets live by chance. <br>Either you come not here, or, as you grace <br>Some old acquaintance, drop into the place, <br>Careless and qualmish with a yawning face: <br>You sleep o'er wit,—and by my troth you may; <br>Most of your talents lie another way. <br>You love to hear of some prodigious tale, <br>The bell that tolled alone, or Irish whale. <br>News is your food, and you enough provide, <br>Both for yourselves, and all the world beside. <br>One theatre there is, of vast resort, <br>Which whilome of Requests was called the Court; <br>But now the great exchange of news 'tis hight, <br>And full of hum and buzz from noon till night. <br>Up stairs and down you run, as for a race, <br>And each man wears three nations in his face. <br>So big you look, though claret you retrench, <br>That, armed with bottled ale, you huff the French. <br>But all your entertainment still is fed <br>By villains in our own dull island bred. <br>Would you return to us, we dare engage <br>To show you better rogues upon the stage. <br>You know no poison but plain ratsbane here; <br>Death's more refined, and better bred elsewhere. <br>They have a civil way in Italy, <br>By smelling a perfume to make you die; <br>A trick would make you lay your snuff-box by. <br>Murder's a trade, so known and practised there, <br>That 'tis infallible as is the chair. <br>But mark their feasts, you shall behold such pranks! <br>The Pope says grace, but 'tis the devil gives thanks.</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=419848" data-title="Prologue to Caesar Borgia de John Dryden" data-description="The unhappy man, who once has trailed a pen, 
Lives not to please himself, but other men; 
Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood, 
Yet only eats and drinks what you think good. 
What praise soe'er the poetry deserve, 
Yet every fool can bi..."></div>
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