WOu'dst thou, by Attic taste approv'd,
By all be read, by all be lov'd,
To learned Harris' curious eye,
By me advis'd, dear Muse, apply:
In him the perfect judge you'll find,
In him the candid friend, and kind.
If he repeats, if he approves,
If he the laughing muscles moves,
Thou nor the critic's sneer shal'st mind,
Nor be to pie's or trunks consign'd.
If he condemns, away you fly,
And mount in paper kites the sky,
Or dead 'mongst Grub-street's records lye.