Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 9.djvu/133

Let what thou feign 'st for pleasure's sake, be near
The truth ; nor let thy fable think whate'er
It would, must be : lest it alive would draw
The child, when Lamia has din'd, out of her maw.
The poems void of profit, our grave men
Cast out by voices ; want they pleasure, then
Our gallants give them none, but pass them by ;
But he hath every suffrage, can apply
Sweet mixt with sour to his reader, so
As doctrine and delight together go.
This book will get the Sosii money; this
Will pass the seas, and long as nature is,
With honour make the far-known author live.
There are yet faults, which we would well forgive,
For neither doth the string still yield that sound
The hand and mind would, but it will resound
Oft-times a sharp, when we require a flat:
Nor always doth the loosed bow hit that
Which it doth threaten. Therefore, where I see
Much in the poem shine, I will not be
Offended with few spots, which negligence
Hath shed, or human frailty not kept thence,
How then ? why as a scrivener, if h' offend
Still in the same, and warned will not mend,
Deserves no pardon ; or who'd play, and sing
Is laugh'd at, that still jarreth on one string :
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me
A Cherilus, in whom if I but see
Twice or thrice good, I wonder ; but am more
Angry. Sometimes I hear good Homer snore ;
But I confess, that in a long work, sleep
May, with some right, upon an author creep.
As painting, so is poesy. Some man's hand
Will take you more, the nearer that you stand;