VI. Phædrus to the Cavillers

Thou that against my tales inveigh’st,

As much too pleasant for thy taste;

Egregious critic, cease to scoff,

While for a time I play you off,

And strive to soothe your puny rage.

As Esop comes upon the stage,

And dress’d entirely new in Rome,

Thus enters with the tragic plume.—

“O that the fair Thessalian pine

Had never felt the wrath divine,

And fearless of the axe’s wound,

Had still the Pelian mountain crown’d!

That Argus by Palladian aid

Had ne’er the advent’rous vessel made;

In which at first, without dismay,

Death’s bold professors won their way,

In which th’ inhospitable main

Was first laid open for the bane

Of Grecians and barbarians too.

Which made the proud Æetas rue,

And whence Medea’s crimes to nought

The house and reign of Pelias brought.

She—while in various forms she tries

Her furious spirit to disguise,

At one place in her flight bestow’d

Her brother’s limbs upon the road;

And at another could betray

The daughters their own sire to slay.”

How think you now?—What arrant trash!

And our assertions much too rash!—

Since prior to th’ Ægean fleet

Did Minos piracy defeat,

And made adventures on the sea.

How then shall you and I agree?

Since, stern as Cato’s self, you hate

All tales alike, both small and great.

Plague not too much the man of parts;

For he that does it surely smarts.—

This threat is to the fools, that squeam

At every thing of good esteem;

And that they may to taste pretend,

Ev’n heaven itself will discommend.

Riley