Classic Poem

How many fops in gay attire.
The croud ill judging still admire,
With superficial florid phrase
Tortering plain sense a thousand ways;
While self conceit each word supplies,
And folly thinks them wonderous wise;
Let real merit come in view,
Conspicuous to the knowing few,
Tho' poorly clad, the coxcomb kind,
Shall fly like chaff before the wind,
Their trim conceits and vague discourse,
Must yield to Truth's energic force,
And every vain conceited elf,
Become a victim to himself.

 To prove what's here asserted true,
Pert Clodio I appeal to you;
To you, whose bosom does contain,
The quintelcence of all that's vain;
Thy name at present swells my page,
The Foil-stone of this critic age,
Awhile be silent—if you're able,
And for amusement—read the fable.
 Within a toyman's shop at night,

Resplendent by the taper's light,
A Foil-stone hung to make a shew,
As glittering things attract the view;
Pleas'd with the wide surrounding blaze.
It thus began itself to praise.

 Of all the gems that deck the fair,
What jewel can with me compare;
The garnet red, the sapphire blue,
Or others of whatever hue,
Some folks may prize and think them fine,
But what's their worth compar'd to mine?
What are those lights that blaze on high,
But glittering Foil-stones of the sky?
Order'd by Jove, that glorious place,
The earth to light, the sky to grace;
Fix'd on Clarinda's breast my rays,
Would rob her of her wonted praise;
Her eyes that made the world adore,
Was I but near, would shine no more;
Where merit once to stand the test,
Superior I should be confest,
Unequal'd I should rule alone,
As this poor Taper to the sun;
Their beauties all must fade away,
And I reign monarch of the day.

 The taper's ray no more deride,
A Diamond that o'er heard, reply'd,
'Tis to his power alone you owe,
Your present superficial glow;
Some fatal hand remove the light,
Adieu! thy glory sets in night.

 But I, deep hid within the mine,
By nature's hand was form'd to shine;
While thou poor compound, fram'd by art,
In nature have not any part,
The product of some foplings brain
To imitate my glow—in vain.
By all true judges thou'rt despis'd,
By fops and fools alone art priz'd;
And this thy chiefest value known,
To deck some vagrant actors crown;
This evidently all may see,
And thou were christen'd Foil to me .
 Silent thou hadst not suffer'd blame,
Fools by their prating cause their shame.