An Assorted Collection of Eighteenth-Century Poetry
VERSES to a Writer of RIDDLES.
18th Century Various EnglishVERSES to a Writer of RIDDLES.
AH! boast not those obscuring lays, Nor think it sure and certain That every one can draw a face, Who can produce a curtain.
POPE does the flourish'd truth no hurt, While graceful flowers disguise it; Thou daub'st it so with mud and dirt, That not a soul espies it.
His fancy decks, thy fancy shrowds; What likeness is between 'em? 'Twixt one who soars above the clouds, And one entangled in 'em?
But let my candour not upbraid Thy strains, which flow so purely; It is thy secret, 'tis thy trade, Thy craft — to write obscurely.
Obscurity in thee to blame I've not the least pretence; 'Tis that alone can guard thy fame, The style that suits thy sense.
When Nature forms an horrid mien Less fit for vulgar sight; The creature, fearful to be seen, Spontaneous shuns the light.
The bat uncouth thro' instinct fears The prying eyes of day; Yet when the sun no more appears, Securely wings away.
'Tis instinct bids the frightful owl To devious glooms repair; And points out Riddles to a fool, To wrap his genius there.