Upon
RIDDLES
.
HAVE
you
not
known
a
small
machine
Which
brazen
rings
environ
,
In
many
a
country
chimney
seen
,
Y-clep'd
a
tarring-iron
?
Its
puzzling
nature
to
display
Each
idle
clown
may
try
,
Sir
,
Tho
,
when
he
has
acquir'd
the
way
,
He's
not
a
jot
the
wiser
.
'Tis
thus
with
him
,
who
fond
of
rhime
In
Wit's
low
species
piddles
;
And
tires
his
thoughts
,
and
wastes
his
time
In
explicating
riddles
.
Shall
idle
bards
,
by
fancy
led
,
(
With
wrathful
zeal
I
speak
it
)
Write
with
design
to
plague
my
head
,
Who
have
no
right
to
break
it
?
He
writes
the
best
,
who
,
writing
,
can
Both
please
and
teach
together
:
But
'tis
the
devil
of
a
plan
,
That
can
accomplish
neither
.
Ye
readers
,
hear
!
ye
writers
too
!
O
spare
your
darkling
labours
!
For
,
tho'
they
please
,
not
profit
,
you
,
They
plague
and
hurt
your
neighbours
.
Go
learn
of
POPE
;
then
judge
aright
,
Which
way
to
Fame's
the
surer
;
To
put
the
truth
in
fairest
light
,
Or
render
it
obscurer
.