And all those Laurels are in pieces torn,
Which did e’er while one sacred Head adorn.
Nay, even the Women now pretend to reign;
Defend us from a Poet Joan again!
That Congregation’s in a hopeful way
To Heaven, where the Lay-Sisters teach and pray.
Oh the great Blessing of a little Wit!
I’ve seen an elevated Poet sit,
And hear the Audience laugh and clap, yet say,
Gad after all, ’tis a damn’d silly Play: