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,