Classic Poem

Did I for fordid Gain attempt to write,
Or in a popular Applause delight;
These envious Creatures wou'd have some Pretence
To whet their Weapons, in their own Defence:
With Justice then, they might proclaim a War
And dart their poison'd Arrows from afar.
But I, who ne'er to Lawrels did aspire,
Ne'er wish'd for Fame, or wrote a Line for Hire,
Still from those vulgar Ends my Soul was free,
Nor ought desir'd beyond Obscurity.
Of me, methinks, they need not be afraid,
Me! who will ne'er usurp their rhiming Trade.
Yet Oh my worthy Friend, in Notes obscure
These Birds of Night on me their fury pour;
From gross Untruths they false Conclusions draw,
And say I pillage Books I never saw.
So with fly Chatter, or malicious Feud,
They daily interrupt my charming Solitude.

Thus tir'd with Knaves, and Fools, I fly to Thee
For sound Advice in my Necessity;
And were our sacred Friendship not so great,
I cou'd even en'vy thy secure Retreat.