entangled in glaomy law-suits; I shall wonder if with his
wealth he can distinguish a true friend from false one. You, whether
you have made, or intend to make, a present to any one, do not bring him
full of joy directly to your finished verses: for then he will cry out,
"Charming, excellent, judicious," he will turn pale; at some parts he
will even distill the dew from his friendly eyes; he will jump about; he
will beat the ground [with ecstasy]. As those who mourn at funerals for
pay, do and say more than those that are afflicted from their hearts; so
the sham admirer is more moved than he that praises with sincerity.
Certain kings are said to ply with frequent bumpers, and by wine make
trial of a man whom they are sedulous to know whether he be worthy of
their friendship or not. Thus, if you compose verses, let not the fox's
concealed intentions impose upon you.

If you had recited any thing to Quintilius, he would say, "Alter, I
pray, this and this:" if you replied, you could do it no better, having
made the experiment twice or thrice in vain; he would order you to blot
out, and once more apply to the anvil your ill-formed verses: if you
choose rather to defend than correct a fault, he spent not a word more
nor fruitless labor, but you alone might be fond of yourself and your
own works, without a rival. A good and sensible man will censure
spiritless verses, he will condemn the rugged, on the incorrect he will
draw across a black stroke with his pen; he will lop off ambitious [and
redundant] ornaments; he will make him throw light on the parts that are
not perspicuous; he will arraign what is expressed ambiguously; he will
mark what should be altered; [in short,] he will be an Aristarchus: he
will not say, "Why should I give my friend offense about mere trifles?"
These trifles will lead into mischiefs of serious consequence, when once
made an object of ridicule, and used in a sinister manner.

Like one whom an odious plague or jaundice, fanatic phrensy or lunacy,
distresses; those who are wise avoid a mad poet, and are afraid to touch
him; the boys jostle him, and the incautious pursue him. If, like a
fowler intent upon his game, he should fall into a well or a ditch while
he belches out his fustian verses and roams about, though he should cry
out for a long time, "Come to my assistance, O my countrymen;" not one
would give himself the trouble of taking him up. Were any one to take
pains to give him aid, and let do