Who scoffed at Dryden ’reft of hope
And for his wealth who envied Pope;
Who gorged their sybarites with sweets,
And doled the poorest skink to Keats;
Who Savage left, oh, how unwilling,
To praise his last,—his “Splendid Shilling;”
Who mocked at Johnson’s feet unshod,
While Chesterfield they deemed a god;
Who drove poor Burns to blank despair,
O’erwhelmed with toil, with debt and care;