Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 9.djvu/137

Rh But if hereafter thou shalt write, not fear To send it to be judg'd by Metius' ear, And to your father's, and to mine, though't be Nine years kept in, your papers by, yo' are free To change and mend, what you not forth do set. The writ, once out, never returned yet. Tis now inquir'd which makes the nobler verse, Nature, or art. My judgment will not pierce Into the profits, what a mere rude brain Can; nor all toil, without a wealthy vein: So doth the one the other's help require, And friendly should unto one end conspire. He that's ambitious in the race to touch The wished goal, both did, and suffer'd much While he was young; he sweat, and freez'd again, And both from wine and women did abstain. Who since to sing the Pythian rites is heard, Did learn them first, and once a master fear'd. But now it is enough to say, I make An admirable verse. The great scurf take Him that is last, I scorn to come behind, Or of the things that ne'er came in my mind To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a crier That to the sale of wares calls every buyer; So doth the poet, who is rich in land, Or great in moneys out at use, command His flatterers to their gain. But say, he can Make a great supper, or for some poor man Will be a surety, or can help him out Of an entangling suit, and bring't about: I wonder how this happy man should know, Whether his soothing friend speak truth or no. But you, my Piso, carefully beware (Whether yo'are given to, or giver are)