Classic Poem

I had you for a servant, once, Dick Brome;
And you performed a servant's faithful parts:
Now, you are got into a nearer room,
Of fellowship, professing my old arts.
And you do do them well, with good applause,
Which you have justly gained from the stage,
By observation of those comic laws
Which I, your master, first did teach the age.
You learned it well; and, for it, served your time,
A prenticeship: which few do nowadays.
Now each court hobby-horse will wince in rhyme;
Both learned, and unlearned, all write plays.
It was not so of old: men took up trades
That knew the crafts they had been bred in, right:
An honest Bilbo-smith would make good blades,
And the physician teach men spew, or shite;
The cobbler kept him to his nall; but, now
He'll be a pilot, scarce can guide a plough.