Gods! What a dose!—had he to ‘eat his words!’
His ‘Sacred Poems,’ like a rogue’s confessions,
Gain him indulgence for his worst transgressions:
His ‘Fugitive Attempts’ will doubtless live—
Oh! that more works of his were fugitive!
Fate to his fame a ticklish place has given,
Like Mahomet’s coffin, ’twixt the earth and heaven;
But be it as it will—let come what may—
Nat is a star, his works—the Milky Way!
“‘Why so severe on Willis?’ Julia cries