For this my little commonweal.—
O give my peace not such a stab!
Nor slay—as Cain did—name-sake Nab.
This prologue first premis’d, in hopes
Such figures, metaphors, and tropes
For pardon will not plead in vain,
We’ll now proceed in lighter strain.
The epistle then goes on to strictures frank and honest, though softened off by courteous praise and becoming diffidence, on a manuscript poem of Mr. Greville’s, that had been confidentially transmitted to Lynn, for the private opinion and critical judgment of Mr. Burney.