No More Learning

Let but the plot be spun off fast and thickly,
So that the crowd shall gape in broad surprise,
Then have you made a wide impression quickly,
You are the man they'll idolize.
The mass can only be impressed by masses;
Then each at last picks out his proper part.
Give much, and then to each one something passes,
And each one leaves the house with happy heart.
Have you a piece, give it at once in pieces!
Such a ragout your fame increases;
It costs as little pains to play as to invent.
But what is gained, if you a whole present?
Your public picks it presently to pieces.

_Poet_. You do not feel how mean a trade like that must be!
In the true Artist's eyes how false and hollow!
Our genteel botchers, well I see,
Have given the maxims that you follow.

_Manager_. Such charges pass me like the idle wind;
A man who has right work in mind
Must choose the instruments most fitting.
Consider what soft wood you have for splitting,
And keep in view for whom you write!
If this one from _ennui_ seeks flight,
That other comes full from the groaning table,
Or, the worst case of all to cite,
From reading journals is for thought unable.
Vacant and giddy, all agog for wonder,
As to a masquerade they wing their way;
The ladies give themselves and all their precious plunder
And without wages help us play.
On your poetic heights what dream comes o'er you?
What glads a crowded house? Behold
Your patrons in array before you!
One half are raw, the other cold.
One, after this play, hopes to play at cards,
One a wild night to spend beside his doxy chooses,
Poor fools, why court ye the regards,
For such a set, of the chaste muses?
I tell you, give them more and ever more and more,
And then your mark you'll hardly stray from ever;
To mystify be your endeavor,
To satisfy is labor sore. . . .
What ails you? Are you pleased or pained? What notion----

_Poet_. Go to, and find thyself another slave!
What! and the lofty birthright Nature gave,
The noblest talent Heaven to man has lent,
Thou bid'st the Poet fling to folly's ocean!