Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/221

 But let you live, untroubled by advice, Sole tenant of your own fool's paradise.
 * A wise and faithful counsellor will blame

Weak verses, note the rough, condemn the lame, Retrench luxuriance, make obscureness plain, Cross-question this, bid that be writ again: A second Aristarch, he will not ask, "Why for such trifles take my friend to task?" Such trifles bring to serious grief ere long A hapless bard, once flattered and led wrong.
 * See the mad poet! never wight, though sick

Of itch or jaundice, moon-struck, fanatic, Was half so dangerous: men whose mind is sound Avoid him; fools pursue him, children hound. Suppose, while spluttering verses, head on high, Like fowler watching blackbirds in the sky, He falls into a pit; though loud he shout "Help, neighbours, help!" let no man pull him out: Should some one seem disposed a rope to fling, I will strike in with, "Pray do no such thing: I'll warrant you he meant it," and relate His brother bard Empedocles's fate, Who, wishing to be thought a god, poor fool, Leapt down hot Ætna's crater, calm and cool. "Leave poets free to perish as they will: Save them by violence, you as good as kill. 'Tis not his first attempt: if saved to-day, He's sure to die in some outrageous way. Beside, none knows the reason why this curse Was sent on him, this love of making verse,