Classic Poem

As Custom makes those, who are no great Clerks,
Set to their Acts and Deeds, Seals, Hands, or Marks,
To show this Book, my Writing, Act, or Deed,
You'd have me to it put, my Mark, or Head.
Thus Poet's Wares, like others, great or small,
Must have their Sign, to put 'em off to Sale,
So must sophisticated Wit, as Wine,
The worse it is, have but the better Sign,
That Men, to swallow both, may more incline.
Each Author puts the best Face on his Book,
That Buyers might on both more kindly look;
Spruce Trader thus, at his Shop-door appears,
With his good Looks, to tice in Customers.
All Lyers, Cheats, Historians, Poets, Quacks,
Divines, Diviners in their Almanacks,
Or Books, tho' but more to their own Disgrace,
Look, in Effigie, Buyers in the Face,
As who shou'd say, they were no small Fools there,
The World, nor yet the fiercest Critic fear,
Stand up i'th' Front, for Book, and Bookseller;
As who shou'd hint, i'th' first Leaf of the Book,
They justifie their Sense by their grave Look,
As formal Coxcombs wou'd their Nonsense pass
On the blind World, but by their grave Grimace,
And oft for Sense wou'd make their Nonsense go,
By setting their best Faces on it so;
Tho' Gravity be rather Folly's Test,
By which each dull and mystick Fool's known best,
For being more in Earnest, more a Jest:
So, by your leave, each Wit before his Book,
With Looks in Print, must like a Coxcomb look;
In the first Leaf, yet (if you'll have it so,)
His Art at least, let the bold Graver show
My Shame, but for your Interest to grow;
For as good Wine wants no good Bush, or Sign,
Were not my Wit flat, you'd ne'r ask for mine:
So where there is but scanty Furniture,
Bare Walls to cover, Pictures we procure;
Yet when ill ones must fill up the void Space,
That Place, by furnishing, we more disgrace;
So, with my sensless Face, thou'lt damn thy Book,
Since Man's Sense suffers for his silly Look,
Or bold one, which none for a wise One took;
Then no Man, in his Book, can show his Face,
But first, sure, he must borrow it from Brass,
The Wit then seeking Praise to his Disgrace.
Who vainly puts his Looks in Print, must seem
To those an Ass, from whom he'd gain Esteem;
As serious Faces put on Follies so,
But more the Shame of their vain Owners grow,
As them but more, they to the Public show.