He unconcern’d, cries only—Is it so?

No matter, these unwitty things will do,

When your fine fustian useless Eloquence

Serves but to chime asleep a drousy Audience.

Who at the vast expence of Wit would treat,

That might so cheaply please the Appetite?

Such homely Fare you’re like to find to night:

Our Author

Knows better how to juggle than to write:

Alas! a Poet’s good for nothing now,