Ignoble quarrels mark their envious discontent.
When the Scald sung, ’twas raving coarse and wild,
No longer Gimle’s inspiration sure;
No longer from thy breast, O nature mild!
He drew the milk so bountiful, so pure;
His only nurses now were prejudice
And discord, each a foul-mouth’d envious quean:
His aim is now, deep grovelling in vice,
To please the multitude with jest obscene,
To flatter or to mock, calumniate and feign.