Classic Poem

The Snarling Wits, who never show their Wit,
Or Sense, but when it is in spight of it:
To get their Credit, but by others Blame,
Like wrangling Cowards, others will defame,
Disgracing them, to hide but their own Shame;
Conscious, they merit their own selves no Praise,
The Meritorious down to them debase;
To most Men's Reputations most severe,
But as they most all others Censures fear:
Men censure, that they may not censur'd be,
As Cowards huff, from Squabbles to be free;
So they who have least Wit, as Courage, are
Less apt their own weak Brother's Faults to spare.
False Critics, like false Bravo's, (thus, we see)
Most captious with their Betters first to be:
Not to be fallen on, first fall on them;
From others Shame, to get themselves Esteem.
So the Deform'd in Body, Face, or Mind,
To find most Faults in others are inclin'd;
As others them more Faulty yet may find;
Thus Men of least Wit, at the Muse's most
Will rail, as least they can their Favour boast;
As vain Fools, who of Women's Favour fail,
Defame them most, on whom they least prevail;
And damn their Rivals most, as abler Men,
As they most Fav'rites to their Dames have been;
Critics are like poor Rooking Gamesters then,
Wanting wherewith to make Diversion; so,
Become Disturbers of all those, who do
Into small Stocks, from others Ventures grow;
Each Credit gets from others Oversights,
And Praise by Writing, tho' he never Writes;
Credit from others, Loss of it receives,
As the Rook on the ruin'd Gamester lives;
By whose Assistance he is more betray'd,
Who grows his Pusher's Hindrance of his Aid;
But as a Stander by corrects Mistakes,
Which, when his own Skill too he tries, he makes;
In fine, the currish Pack of Critics are
Like other Snarlers, who will never spare
Each other, when they hungry grow for Fame;
But on each other fall, for want of Game.
Each, in pursuit of others downfals, grow,
But of united Friends, each other's Foe;
Whom Run down Wits the fiercer to them find,
The more they seem to be of their own kind;
As to the Fox, the teizing Terrier, so,
The more like him, the more becomes his Foe,
The peevish Critic's Envy does increase,
But from his own Conception's Barrenness,
When he the Fruitfulness of others sees;
As more Pain Barren Women undergo,
From others Births, than they who bear them do.
Critics are Foes to Wits, and none will spare,
As Atheists Foes to True Believers are:
Hate Minds inspir'd, because their's are not such,
For want of Sense, their Knowledge to them grutch,
From their Despair of Immortality;
But others Merit, and their Sense deny;
Because their Names can't live, make others die:
From being conscious of deserving Blame;
At their own Faults in others, first exclaim;
To save their own Good Names, will others dam':
For, as Quacks live by those they cause to die,
Critics, by damning others Poetry,
Procure their Fame, and Immortality.
Not by their Sense, but others Want of it;
Show more their Judgment, to prove less their Wit:
Judges of Wit, like other Judges so,
For their own Faults they find in others too,
Wou'd most esteem'd, in others Judgment, grow;
But by their General Severity,
Their Justice and their Judgment justifie.