Virg monologue (Act 4) — The Poetaster

Before you go together, worthy Romans, We are to tender our opinion; And give you those instructions, that may add Unto your even judgment in the cause: Which thus we do commence. First, you must know, That where there is a true and perfect merit, There can be no dejection; and the scorn Of humble baseness, oftentimes so works In a high soul, upon the grosser spirit, That to his bleared and offended sense, There seems a hideous fault blazed in the object; When only the disease is in his eyes. Here-hence it comes our Horace now stands tax'd Of impudence, self-love, and arrogance, By those who share no merit in themselves; And therefore think his portion is as small. For they, from their own guilt, assure their souls, If they should confidently praise their works, In them it would appear inflation: Which, in a full and well digested man, Cannot receive that foul abusive name, But the fair title of erection. And, for his true use of translating men, It still hath been a work of as much palm, In clearest judgments, as to invent or make, His sharpness,---that is most excusable; As being forced out of a suffering virtue, Oppressed with the license of the time:--- And howsoever fools or jerking pedants, Players, or suchlike buffoon barking wits, May with their beggarly and barren trash Tickle base vulgar ears, in their despite; This, like Jove's thunder, shall their pride control, "The honest satire hath the happiest soul."