All this and more I said; but he, determin'd still, In formal fustian thus declar'd his will: "Oft have I tried" [seems puzzled]---something about bis style, And how he felt the town's indulgent smile. " Were I again to try my scanty vein, I'd beg protection for the feeble strain. But then to sue-be paus'd and rubb'd his head- Thus spoke Mr. Poet, and then with long steps march'd away; And now I am left alone to apologize for offering you this night's play. We'll strive to make you laugh, if our aim be not perverted; Pray, bow d'ye find yourselves? - Are ye in good humour, and willing to be diverted? If you approve, The Rosciad Scribbler then no more I'll dread, Who points his malice at a woman's head! Who drop by drop bis venom doth distil, While Mother Dullness guides the hireling's quill. Lull'd in her lap, strange wonders be descries, |