Classic Poem

Unjust and more ill-natur'd those,
Thy weak, but spiteful and malicious Foes,
Who on thy happiest Talent fix a lye,
And call that slowness, which was care and industry.
Let me (with pride so to be guilty thought)
Share all thy wish'd Reproach, and share thy shame,
If diligence be deem'd a fault
If to be faultless must deserve their blame.
Judge of thy self alone (for none there were,
Could be so just, or could be so severe)
Thou thy own Works didst strictly try
By known and uncontested Rules of Poetry,
And gav'st thy Sentence still impartially.
With rigour thou arraign'dst each guilty line,
And didst of each offending word define,
And spar'dst no criminal Sence, because 'twas thine.
Unbrib'd by Favour, Love, or Self-conceit
(For never, or too seldom we,
Objects too near us, our own blemishes can see)
Thou didst no smalst delinquencies acquit,
But saw'st them to Correction all submit,
Saw'st Execution done on all convicted crimes of Wit.