Classic Poem

In country beauties as we often see
Something that takes in their simplicity;
Yet while they charm, they know not they are fair,
And take without their spreading of the snare:
Such artless beauty lies in Shakespeare's wit;
'T was well in spite of him whate'er he writ.
His excellencies came and were not sought;
His words like casual atoms made a thought,
Drew up themselves in rank and file and writ,
He wond'ring how the devil it were such wit.
Thus, like the drunken tinker in his play,
He grew a prince and never knew which way.
He did not know what trope or figure meant,
But to persuade is to be eloquent;
So in this Caesar which this day you see,
Fully ne'er spoke as he makes Anthony.
Those then that tax his learning are to blame;
He knew the thing, but did not know the name.
Great Jonson did that ignorance adore,
And, tho' he envied much, admir'd him more.
The faultless Jonson equally writ well;
Shakespeare made faults, but then did more excel.
One close at guard like some old fencer lay;
T' other more open, but he shew'd more play.
In imitation Jonson's wit was shown;
Heaven made his men, but Shakespeare made his own.
Wise Jonson's talent in observing lay,
But others' follies still made up his play.
He drew the like in each elaborate line,
But Shakespeare like a master did design,
Jonson with skill dissected humankind,
And show'd their faults that they their faults might find;
But then, as all anatomists must do,
He to the meanest of mankind did go,
And took from gibbets such as he would show,
Both are so great that he must boldly dare
Who both of 'em does judge and both compare.
If amongst poets one more bold there be,
The man that dare attempt in either way, is he.