Unseemliness,—of no more warrant, there
And then, than now and here, whate'er the time
And place,—I say, the Immortal,—who can doubt?—
Would never shrink, but own, 'The blot escaped
Our artist: thus he shows humanity!'
"May stranger tax one peccant part in thee,
Poet, three-parts divine! May I proceed?
"'Comedy is prescription and a rite.'
Since when? No growth of the blind antique time,
'It rose in Attiké with liberty;