the good poet, since I perfectly well remember those verses of
Ovid, wherein he says:--

"'Cura ducum fuerunt olim regumque poetae,
Praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori.
Sanctaque majestas, et erat venerabile nomen
Vatibus; et largae saepe dabantur opes.'

And still less do I forget the high quality of the poets whom Plato
calls the interpreters of the Gods, while Ovid says of them--

"'Est deus in nobis; agitante calescimus illo.'

And again--

"'At sacri vates et divum cura vocamur.'

"These things are said of good poets; but, as respects the bad ones--the
gabbling pretenders--what can we say, save only that they are the idiocy
and the arrogance of the world.

"Who is there that has not seen one of this sort when he is longing to
bring forth some sonnet to the ears of his neighbours? How he goes round
and round them with--'Will your worships excuse me if I read you a
little sonnet, which I made one night on a certain occasion; for it
appears to me, although indeed it be worth nothing, to have yet a
certain something--a _je ne scai quoi_ of pretty, and pleasing.' Then
shall he twist his lips, and arch his eyebrows, and make a thousand
antics, diving into his pockets meanwhile and bringing out half a
hundred scraps of paper, greasy and torn, as if he had made a good
million of sonnets; he then recites that which he proffered to the
company, reading it in a chanting and affected voice.

"If, perchance, those who hear him, whether because of their knowledge
or their ignorance, should fail to commend him, he says, 'Either your
worships have not listened to the verses, or I have not been able to
read them properly, for indeed and in truth they deserve to be heard;'
and he begins, as before, to recite his poem, with new gestures and
varied pauses.

"Then to hear these poetasters censure and tear one another to pieces!
And what shall I say of the thefts committed by these cubs and whelps of
modern pretence on the grave and ancient masters of the art, or of their
malevolent carpings at those excellent persons of their own day in whom
shines the true light of poetry; who, making a solace and recreation of
their arduous labours, prove the divinity of their genius and the
elevation of their thoughts to the despite and vexation of these
ignorant pretenders, who presume to judge that of which they know
nothing, and abhor the beauties which they are not able to comprehend?
What will you have