A prince, the moment he is crowned, Inherits every virtue round, As emblems of the sovereign power, Like other baubles in the Tower; Is generous, valiant, just, and wise, And so continues till he dies: His humble senate this professes In all their speeches, votes, addresses. But once you fix him in a tomb, His virtues fade, his vices bloom, And each perfection, wrong imputed, Is fully at his death confuted. The loads of poems in his praise Ascending, make one funeral blaze. As soon as you can hear his knell This god on earth turns devil in hell; And lo! his ministers of state, Transformed to imps, his levee wait, Where, in the scenes of endless woe, They ply their former arts below; And as they sail in Charon's boat, Contrive to bribe the judge's vote; To Cerberus they give a sop, His triple-barking mouth to stop; Or in the ivory gate of dreams Project Excise and South-Sea schemes, Or hire their party pamphleteers To set Elysium by the ears. Then, poet, if you mean to thrive, Employ your Muse on kings alive; With prudence gather up a cluster Of all the virtues you can muster, Which, formed into a garland sweet, Lay humbly at your monarch's feet, Who, as the odours reach his throne, Will smile and think them all his own; For law and gospel both determine All virtues lodge in royal ermine, (I mean the oracles of both, Who shall depose it upon oath.) Your garland in the following reign, Change but the names, will do again. But, if you think this trade too base, (Which seldom is the dunce's case,) Put on the critic's brow, and sit At Will's the puny judge of wit. A nod, a shrug, a scornful smile, With caution used, may serve a while. Proceed on further in your part, Before you learn the terms of art; For you can never be too far gone In all our modern critics' jargon; Then talk with more authentic face Of unities, in time, and place; Get scraps of Horace from your friends, And have them at your fingers' ends; Learn Aristotle's rules by rote, And at all hazards boldly quote; Judicious Rymer oft review, Wise Dennis, and profound Bossu; Read all the prefaces of Dryden-- For these our critics much confide in, (Though merely writ at first for filling, To raise the volume's price a shilling.) A forward critic often dupes us With sham quotations _Peri Hupsous_. And if we have not read Longinus, Will magisterially outshine us. Then, lest with Greek he overrun ye, Procure the book for love or money, Translated from Boileau's translation, And quote quotation on quotation.