A Parliament, [by Play-Bill, summon’d here];
When e’er in want, to you for aid they fly,
And a new Play’s the Speech that begs supply:
But now—
The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid,
Our Poets must find out another Trade;
They’ve tried all ways th’ insatiate Clan to please,
Have parted with their old Prerogatives,
Their Birth-right Satiring, and their just pretence
Of judging even their own Wit and Sense;