Tickles the fancy, while it melts the heart!—

Since at apologies I ne’er was handy,—

Come, while fastidious Readers run me hard,

And screen, sly playful wag! a hapless Bard,

Behind one volume of thy Tristram Shandy!

Ye Two, alone!—tho’ I could bring a score

Of brilliant names, and high examples, more—

Plead for me, when ’tis said I misbehave me!

And, ye, sour Censors! in your crabbed fits,

Who will not let them rescue me as Wits,