Smil'd, and like a gentle God,
Consenting with the usual Nod,
Told  he knew his Talent best,
And left the Choice to his own Breast.
So  resolv'd to write a Farce,
But well perceiving Wit was scarce,
With Cunning that Defect supplies,
Takes a  Play as lawful Prize,
Steals thence his Plot, and ev'ry Joke,
Not once suspecting,  would ,
And, (like a Wag) sat down to Write,
Would whisper to himself; ,
Then, from the motly mingled Style
Proceeded to erect his Pile:
So, Men of old, to gain Renown, did
Build  with their Tongues confounded.
saw the Cheat, but thought it best
To turn the Matter to a Jest;
Down from  Top he Slides,
Laughing as if he'd butst his Sides:
Ay, thought the God, are these your Tricks?
Why then,  deserve ,
And since you're sparing of your Stuff,
Your Building shall be small enough.
He spake, and grudging, lent his Ayd;
Th' experienc't Bricks that knew their Trade,
(As being Bricks at Second Hand,)
Now move, and now in Order Stand.