Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array, bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she must avail herself of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her.

But this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-places, or in the closets of palaces.

She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue that he who is able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of inestimable worth.

He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets.

She must on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies.