Does she, poor silly thing, pretend
The manners of our age to mend?
Mad as we are, we’re wise enough
Still to despise sic paultry stuff.
“May she wha writes, of wit get mair,
An’ a’ that read an ample share
Of candour ev’ry fault to screen,
That in her dogg’ral scrawls are seen.”
All this and more, a critic said;
I heard and slunk behind the shade: