Classic Poem

Its strange how aptly from first sight men judge,
This thing or that denominating fudge,
Catching each prejudice from outward shew,
Without examining what lies below;
Wise, foolish, worthy, worthless bad, or good,
With glance intuitive is understood;
Nay some they are so penetrating reckon'd,
As if from first sight they had gain'd the second;
A glist'ning vestment or a thread-bare coat,
With them doth wit or want of it denote,
And every item of exterior dress,
Certes th' internal merit doth confess;
Just like excisemen, they precisely scan
And guage the sum of intellect in man,
He that has wealth's a wit, and by that rule,
He that is destitute's of course a fool.
Immortal Sterne had some where said of Trim,
Whene'er I think of this I think of him;
That he one day to parson Yorrick said,
Being nettled with the curates punning,
For godsake do leave off this funning,
As you say, but as I say, ill bred trade,
Sir, I presume against that awful day,
When universal inquest shall be made,
Impartial Heaven will small attention pay
To outward title, colouring, or parade;
But if we've done our duty here below,
Like champions true and kept the proper tack on,
Eternal justice will not seek to know
Whether 'twas in a red coat, or a black one;
One day engaged in various chat,
Pope with an old ocquaintance sat,
'Twas in a coffee house, or honse some such,
The poet from his pocket drew
A latin manuscript to shew
A passage which perplex'd him much:
His friend with penetrating eye,
Survey'd the sentence o'er and o'er,
Tittle by tittle but no more
A right construction could supply,
Than could our bard himself before.

A spruce young officer who chanc'd to be
In the same box, or in that next them,
Desir'd they'd be so good as let him see,
The passage which so much had vex'd them;
Pope with a most contemptuous vapour,
To our young soldier gave the paper,
Who after having look'd at it a while,
Return'd it with a smile,
Observing the matter was quite plain,
And needs but little explanation,
As the true sense they'd easily obtain
By just inserting an interrogation.
Interrogation! with a sneer,
Quoth Pope, why Sir, I pray what's that?
The smart who fancied Alexander queer,
Replied with answer pat,
(That bore reproof but not illnatures sting
Nor spleen's sugestions),
Sir, 'tis a little crooked thing
That asketh questions.