Classic Poem

In dustry, Wealth and Honour often gains,
The Praise of Wit is lost, by taking Pains;
For our Heads Labour, as our Bodies too,
Does but more plain, the Wants of either show;
So more you lose the Credit of your Wit,
But the more Pains you take, in showing it;
Since, for a Man to be stil'd Labourer,
In Wit, as Law, but his Discredit were;
He's the Best Wit, as the Best Gentleman,
Who, for his Wit, or Money, takes least Pain;
For Wit, to gain Esteem, like Beauty too,
Must seem, an Artful Negligence, to show;
Must, for its Fame on Nature, more rely,
Than either upon Art, or Industry;
Since Wit, like Beauty, with Art, Pains set out,
Its Natural Perfection brings in Doubt;
The greatest Grace to both, is Carelesness,
The more affected, either's Pow'r is less;
Not too much ty'd to Forms, nor yet too loose,
Either of them, the more Surprizing grows;
So, too much Labour on Fine Fancies spent,
As on Fine Faces, does their Praise prevent;
For like a Good Face, so too, will Good Sense
Seem, more Surprizing for its Negligence;
But Oftentation loses either's Aim,
And even makes their Merit grow their Shame,
More Pains they take for Praise, to get more Blame;
In fine, the Wit who too Laborious grows,
The Name of Wit, with Wits, will justly lose
More, as with more Pains, he his Bus'ness does;
For in a Wit, Pains-taking Industry,
Does rather, Want of Genius more imply,
And shows more, Nature's Insufficiency;
As if a Muse, but like a Mistress too,
Shou'd more, by Pains than Art, complying grow;
Fame shou'd be sought, like Love then, carelesly,
Like it, best gain'd by Mens Indiss'rency,
As often lost too, by their Industry;
For when Wit is become our Bus'ness too,
Like Bus'ness, 'twill a Wit's Discredit grow;
Wit so, like Beauty, has less Influence
Over the World, from Art, than Negligence;
Like Unaffected, Careless Beauty, gains
Most Praise for them, who take least for it, Pains.