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Let such teach others who themselves excel,

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And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind: 20
Nature affords at least a glimm’ring light;
The lines though touch'd but faintly are drawu right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill-colouring but the more disgrac'd,
So by false learning is good sense defac'd:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,

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All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.

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Linhas ligeiras traça, mas direitas
Esboço tenue porem bem traçado
Que se esperdiça mal illuminado.

Falso saber, bom senso desfigura

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E por disculpa em criticos, se tornaõ.

Igual fogo os agita os incendea

Ou possas, ou nao possaõ, sempre escrevem

If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,

There are who judge still worse than he can write. 35

Some have at first for wits, then poets, past,

Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last.

Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,

As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.

Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle, 40

As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;

Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

Their generation's so equivocal;
To tell them would a hundred tongues require,

Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.

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But you who seek to give and merit fame,

And justly bear a Critic's noble name,

Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,

How far your genius, taste, and learning go;

Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, 50

And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

Cô a raiva de hum rival, ou cõ ciume

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De hum custodio das bellas do serralho.

Tem comichaõ d'escarnecer os tolos;

De estár da parte de quem ri, ou ladra.

Se Mevio escreve contra o jus d’Apollo

Ha quem julgue, peor, do

que

elle escreve.

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Alguns antes de serem vates, foraõ

Por homens, de juizo reputados,
Deraõ-se á critica, e asnos sêr, provarao.

Como as mulas, nem asnos nem cavallos

Outros nað sað sensatos, nem censôres.

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Esses pedantes, semi sabios, praga

Que em cardumes a bafaõ nossas ilhas;
Quais nas margens do nilo esses insectos
Que encontramos informes incompletos
De equivoca estructura. Ninguem sabe

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Que nome dar a tantas meias coisas :

Nomealas; requér humas cem linguas:
Mas a de hum tolo, háde estafár cem homens

Oh vos que buscairs dar, merecêr fama,

Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,

And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit.

As on the land while here the ocean gains,

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So vast is art, so narrow human wit:

Not only bounded to peculiar arts,

But oft in these confiu'd to single parts.

Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before,

By vain ambition still to make them more:

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