On Poet-Ape
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oor POET-APE, that would be thought our chief,Whose works are e'en the frippery of wit,From brokage is become so bold a thief,As we, the robbed, leave rage, and pity it.At first he made low shifts, would pick and glean,Buy the reversion of old plays; now grownTo a little wealth, and credit in the scene,He takes up all, makes each man's wit his own.And, told of this, he slights it. Tut, such crimesThe sluggish gaping auditor devours;He marks not whose 'twas first: and after-timesMay judge it to be his, as well as ours.Fool, as if half eyes will not know a fleeceFrom locks of wool, or shreds from the whole piece!
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