Page:The Monk, A Romance - Lewis (1796, 1st ed., Volume 2).djvu/135

 "Your little poem pleases me much," said he: "however, you must not count my opinion for any thing. I am no judge of verses, and for my own part never composed more than six lines in my life: those six produced so unlucky an effect, that I am fully resolved never to compose another. But I wander from my subject. I was going to say that you cannot employ your time worse than in making verses. An author, whether good or bad, or between both, is an animal whom every body is privileged to attack: for though all are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. A bad composition carries with it its own punishment—contempt and ridicule. A good one excites envy, and entails upon its author a thousand mortifications: he finds himself assailed by partial and ill-humoured criticism: one man finds fault with the plan, another with the style, a third with the precept which it strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault with the book,