Their trifling mock visits, to many so dear,
Is the only disaster on earth I now fear.
Sure Sillar much better had banish’d them thence,
Than wrote in despite of good manners and sense:
With two or three more, whose pretensions to fame
Are slight as the bubble that bursts on the stream.
And lest with such dunces as these I be number’d,
The talk I will drop, nor with verse be incumber’d;
Tho’ pen, ink and paper, are by me in store,
O madam excuse, for I ne’er shall write more.