ADVICE
to
MYRTILLO
.
SINCE
you
,
Myrtillo
,
will
devote
your
Time
To
the
lean
Study
of
delusive
Rhyme
:
Since
you're
content
to
slumber
out
your
Days
,
To
dream
of
Dinners
,
but
to
feed
on
Praise
;
Receive
this
Counsel
,
e'er
your
Flights
begin
,
From
one
long
practis'd
in
the
darling
Sin
.
Now
Fame's
broad
Ocean
lies
before
your
Way
;
Yet
,
Friend
,
be
careful
;
'tis
a
dang'rous
Sea
:
Where
(
tho'
some
few
may
reach
the
happy
Land
)
Numbers
are
wreck'd
upon
the
treach'rous
Sand
:
Then
guard
your
Spirits
,
as
you
prize
your
Ease
,
Nor
once
indulge
'em
in
a
thirst
of
Praise
;
For
Fame
,
like
Fortune
,
(
proud
,
yet
wanton
too
)
Is
pleas'd
to
fly
and
make
the
Wretch
pursue
;
Frowns
on
her
Slaves
,
but
to
the
careless
Mind
That
slights
her
Favours
she
is
always
kind
.
Would
you
the
Ladies
shou'd
approve
your
Song
?
Paint
Sylvia's
Eyes
,
or
praise
Clarinda's
Tongue
;
Describe
the
Charms
of
Cloe's
sprightly
Air
,
Or
blooming
Daphne
more
divinely
fair
;
Or
Venus's
Son
that
hurls
the
flaming
Dart
,
And
tag
each
Stanza
with
a
bleeding
Heart
:
Tell
them
of
Rocks
where
Tears
eternal
flow
,
Dissolv'd
to
Fountains
by
a
Lover's
Woe
:
Of
icy
Bosoms
that
in
Summer
freeze
,
And
Sighs
much
stronger
than
a
southern
Breeze
.
Perhaps
the
Fair
,
whom
for
a
Theme
you
choose
,
Must
owe
her
Beauties
to
your
skilful
Muse
:
Has
erring
Nature
raiss'd
her
Nose
too
high
,
Sunk
down
her
Cheeks
,
or
drawn
her
Lips
awry
?
No
matter
how
the
twisted
Features
stand
,
They'll
grow
divine
beneath
a
Poet's
Hand
:
Tho'
her
dim
Eye-balls
roll
within
her
Head
,
Like
two
gray
Bullets
in
a
Verge
of
red
;
You
like
Promotheus
must
their
Rays
inspire
,
And
fill
their
Orbs
with
more
than
mortal
Fire
.
Do
you
the
Levee
of
his
Grace
attend
,
And
(
like
most
Poets
)
shou'd
you
want
a
Friend
,
Make
not
his
Worth
the
Measure
of
your
Song
;
But
learn
his
Humour
,
and
you
can't
be
wrong
:
Perhaps
this
Maxim
may
offend
the
wise
;
But
you
must
flatter
,
if
you
mean
to
rise
:
Observe
what
Passions
in
his
Bosom
roll
,
And
watch
the
secret
Motions
of
his
Soul
:
Mind
what
false
Guard
has
left
a
Breach
within
,
For
some
choice
Folly
,
or
some
darling
Sin
:
These
you
must
hide
—
but
draw
his
Virtues
nigh
,
Lest
the
rude
Picture
shock
the
gazing
Eye
.
The
Heralds-Office
you
must
search
with
Care
;
And
look
you
find
no
Pimps
nor
Taylors
there
:
Bring
none
to
light
but
honourable
Knaves
;
Shut
up
the
Peasants
in
their
mouldy
Graves
:
If
Knights
are
wanting
in
the
dusky
Breed
,
Arthur's
round
Table
will
supply
your
Need
.
No
more
—
for
I
(
as
many
Teachers
do
)
Shew
my
own
Folly
by
instructing
you
;
And
you
perhaps
disdain
my
wholsom
Rules
;
So
saucy
Pupils
count
their
Masters
Fools
:
But
shou'd
your
Pride
the
common
Track
refuse
,
You'll
find
small
Pensions
for
your
haughty
Muse
:
Still
you
may
scribble
on
;
and
in
the
End
Be
just
as
rich
as
—
Sir
,
your
humble
Friend
.