So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse
And found such crass assistance a dark verse
As befits this teacher's ink I must use
Till under you my poesy must be terse.
Thine lies, that are dumb to those who could sing,
And heavy ignorance in the closed eye,
Preach jaded feathers to the learned's wing
And give hope a Labour's travesty.
Yet be most proud of that which you defile
Whose influence is thine, and torn of thee,
In your own works thou dost but feed the guile,
And Arts with thy two-faced graces must be.
But thou art all your Art, and dost by chance
As chanced by learning, live crude ignorance.
- 2000 -