ng to the
judgment of others. Now if he happens to write ill, which is certainly
no sin in itself, he is immediately made an object of ridicule. I wish
we had the humanity to reflect that even the worst authors might, in
their endeavour to please us, deserve something at our hands. We have no
cause to quarrel with them but for their obstinacy in persisting to
write; and this too may admit of alleviating circumstances. Their
particular friends may be either ignorant or insincere; and the rest of
the world in general is too well-bred to shock them with a truth, which
generally their booksellers are the first that inform them of. This
happens not till they have spent too much of their time to apply to any
profession which might better fit their talents; and till such talents
as they have are so far discredited as to be but of small service to
them. For, what is the hardest case imaginable, the reputation of a man
generally depends upon the first steps he makes in the world; and people
will establish their opinion of us, from what we do at that season when
we have least judgment to direct us.

On the other hand, a good poet no sooner communicates his works with the
same desire of information, but it is imagined he is a vain young
creature given up to the ambition of fame, when perhaps the poor man is
all the while trembling with the fear of being ridiculous. If he is made
to hope he may please the world, he falls under very unlucky
circumstances: for, from the moment he prints, he must expect to hear no
more truth than if he were a prince or a beauty. If he has not very good
sense (and indeed there are twenty men of wit for one man of sense) his
living thus in a course of flattery may put him in no small danger of
becoming a coxcomb: if he has, he will consequently have so much
diffidence as not to reap any great satisfaction from his praise: since,
if it be given to his face, it can scarce be distinguished from
flattery, and if in his absence, it is hard to be certain of it. Were he
sure to be commended by the best and most knowing, he is as sure of
being envied by the worst and most ignorant, which are the majority;[3]
for it is with a fine genius as with a fine fashion, all those are
displeased at it who are not able to follow it: and it is to be feared
that esteem will seldom do any man so much good, as ill-will does him
harm. Then there is a third class of people, who make the largest part
of mankind,--those of ordinar