VERSES to a Writer of RIDDLES. Anonymous Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.005 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. V. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 58-59. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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VERSES to a Writer of RIDDLES . AH ! boast not those obscuring lays , Nor think it sure and certain That every one can draw a face , Who can produce a curtain . POPE does the flourish'd truth no hurt , While graceful flowers disguise it ; Thou daub'st it so with mud and dirt , That not a soul espies it . His fancy decks , thy fancy shrowds ; What likeness is between 'em ? 'Twixt one who soars above the clouds , And one entangled in 'em ? But let my candour not upbraid Thy strains , which flow so purely ; It is thy secret , 'tis thy trade , Thy craft — to write obscurely . Obscurity in thee to blame I've not the least pretence ; 'Tis that alone can guard thy fame , The style that suits thy sense . When Nature forms an horrid mien Less fit for vulgar sight ; The creature , fearful to be seen , Spontaneous shuns the light . The bat uncouth thro' instinct fears The prying eyes of day ; Yet when the sun no more appears , Securely wings away . 'Tis instinct bids the frightful owl To devious glooms repair ; And points out Riddles to a fool , To wrap his genius there .