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| I HATE the man who builds his name | |
| On ruins of another’s fame. | |
| Thus prudes, by characters o’erthrown, | |
| Imagine that they raise their own. | |
| Thus scribblers, covetous of praise, | 5 |
| Think slander can transplant the bays. | |
| Beauties and bards have equal pride, | |
| With both all rivals are decried. | |
| Who praises Lesbia’s eyes and feature, | |
| Must call her sister awkward creature; | 10 |
| For the kind flattery’s sure to charm, | |
| When we some other nymph disarm. | |
| As in the cool of early day | |
| A Poet sought the sweets of May, | |
| The garden’s fragrant breath ascends, | 15 |
| And ev’ry stalk the odour bends. | |
| A rose he plucked, he gazed, admired, | |
| Thus singing as the Muse inspired: | |
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| Go, Rose, my Chloe’s bosom grace; | |
| How happy should I prove, | 20 |
| Might I supply that envied place | |
| With never-fading love! | |
| There, Phœnix-like, beneath her eye, | |
| Involved in fragrance, burn and die! | |
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| Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find | 25 |
| More fragrant roses there; | |
| I see thy with’ring head reclined | |
| With envy and despair! | |
| One common fate we both must prove; | |
| You die with envy, I with love. | 30 |
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| Spare your comparisons, replied | |
| An angry Rose who grew beside. | |
| Of all mankind, you should not flout us; | |
| What can a Poet do without us? | |
| In ev’ry love-song roses bloom, | 35 |
| We lend you colour and perfume. | |
| Does it to Chloe’s charms conduce, | |
| To found her praise on our abuse? | |
| Must we, to flatter her, be made | |
| To wither, envy, pine, and fade? | 40 |
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