The poet never maketh any circles about your imagination, to conjure you to believe for true what he writes. He citeth not authorities of other histories, but even for his entry calleth the sweet Muses to inspire him a good invention; in truth, not labouring to tell you what is, or is not, but what should or should not be. And therefore, though he recount things not true, yet because he telleth them not for true, he lieth not, - without we will say that Nathan lied in his speech, before alleged, to David; which as a wicked man durst scarce say, so think I none so simple would say that Aesop lied in the tales of his beasts: for who thinks that Aesop writ it for actually true were well worthy to have his name chronicled among the beasts he writeth of.
Sir Philip Sidney in his An Apology for Poetry brings up, in a way, a recent post of mine (Truthfully Fictitious). It is interesting that we often do not labour to tell others what is, instead we labour to tell them what should be. We are not poets, though. We are judges. David was not being a poet. He was being judgmental. The funniest part of it all is that he was judging another for his own sin. He was of course all along judging himself. We are quick to pass judgments on others yet forget that we too are like Aesop's beasts - stupid.
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