Both in his targets and his techniques, Bramston is a disciple of Pope. Sometimes there is a conscious recollection of the master:
I squal'd in Distichs, and in Triplets wept. (p. 6)
Elsewhere the imitation is less happy:
Sure wretched Wren was taught by bungling Jones,
To murder mortar, and disfigure stones! (p. 10)
Here the stylistic habit of antithesis works against the meaning instead of reinforcing it. But there are many good things in the poem; Bramston's treatment of the idea of the stage as a "school of morality," for example, is clever and amusing. His hero derives his "Hereditary Taste" from being "tragi-comically got" by a player-poet and an orange-woman (p. 6). This gives point to his later claim:
Oxford and Cambridge are not worth one farthing,
Compar'd to Haymarket, and Convent-garden:
Quit those, ye British Youth, and follow these,
Turn players all, and take your Squires degrees. (p. 18)