And rouses, as it spoils his rest,
The baser passions of his breast. 10
Attack a book—attack a song—
You will not do essential wrong;
You may their blemishes expose,
And yet not be the writer’s foes.
But, when the man you thus attack,
And him expose with critic art,
You put a creature to the rack—
You wring, you agonise, his heart.