Of clumsy Mountebanks that come and go
To please the General Public; now, who gave
To IT the right to judge, I'd like to know?
LXIX
Impotent Writers bound to feed ITS taste
For Literature and Poetry debased;
Hither and thither pandering we strive,
And one by one our Talents are disgraced.
LXX
The Scribe no question makes of Verse or Prose,