And tire in untamed infamy of song;
Lest, in some dismal Dunciad's future page,
I stand the Cibber of this tuneless age;
Lest, if another Pope th' indulgent skies
Should give, inspired by all their deities,
My luckless name, in his immortal strain,
Should, blasted, brand me as a second Cain;
200
Doom'd in that song to live against my will,
Whom all must scorn, and yet whom none could kill.