To Mr. B. Occasioned by His Verse, to Mr. Smibert on Seeing His Pictures
Unhappy Bard! sprung in such Gothic Times
As yield no friendly muse, t'extol your Rhymes.
Hard is the Task you singly undergo
To praise the Painter and the Poet too.
But much I fear you raise a short liv'd Fame ,
Which lives but on the Pen from whence it came.
Boast on, and take what fleeting Life can give,
For when you cease to write, you cease to live.
If you to future Ages would be known
Make this Advice I freely give — your own.
Go to the Painter — for your Picture sit;
His art will long survive the Poets Wit.
As yield no friendly muse, t'extol your Rhymes.
Hard is the Task you singly undergo
To praise the Painter and the Poet too.
But much I fear you raise a short liv'd Fame ,
Which lives but on the Pen from whence it came.
Boast on, and take what fleeting Life can give,
For when you cease to write, you cease to live.
If you to future Ages would be known
Make this Advice I freely give — your own.
Go to the Painter — for your Picture sit;
His art will long survive the Poets Wit.
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