Xxii

"Ay, Father, I 'm mute with admiring How Nature's indulgence untiring Still bids us turn deaf ear to Reason's Best rhetoric--clutch at all seasons And hold fast to what 's proved untenable! Thy maxim is--Man 's not amenable To argument: whereof by consequence-- Thine arguments reach me: a non-sequence! Yet blush not discouraged, O Father! I stand unconverted, the rather That nowise I need a conversion. No live man (I cap thy assertion) By argument ever could take hold Of me. 'T was the dead thing, the clay-cold, Which grinned 'Art thou so in a hurry That out of warm light thou must scurry And join me down here in the dungeon Because, above, one 's Jack and one--John, One 's swift in the race, one--a hobbler, One 's a crowned king and one--a capped cobbler, Rich and poor, sage and fool, virtuous, vicious? Why complain? Art thou so unsuspicious That all 's for an hour of essaying Who 's fit and who 's unfit for playing His part in the after-construction --Heaven's Piece whereof Earth 's the Induction? Things rarely go smooth at Rehearsal. Wait patient the change universal, And act, and let act, in existence! For, as thou art clapped hence or hissed hence, Thou hast thy promotion or otherwise. And why must wise thou have thy brother wise Because in rehearsal thy cue be To shine by the side of a booby? No polishing garnet to ruby! All 's well that ends well--through Art's magic. Some end, whether comic or tragic, The Artist has purposed, be certain! Explained at the fall of the curtain-- In showing thy wisdom at odds with That folly: he tries men and gods with No problem for weak wits to solve meant, But one worth such Author's evolvement. So, back nor disturb play's production By giving thy brother instruction To throw up his fool's-part allotted! Lest haply thyself prove besotted When stript, for thy pains, of that costume Of sage, which has bred the imposthume I prick to relieve thee of,--Vanity!'