He hears the serpent-critic's rising hiss;
Then groans succeed; not traitors on the wheel
350
Can feel like him, or have such pangs to feel.
Nor end they here: next day he reads his fall
In every paper; critics are they all;
He sees his branded name, with wild affright,
And hears again the cat-calls of the night.
Such help the STAGE affords; a larger space
Is fill'd by PUFFS and all the puffing race.