Dull poets, too, should have a dose reserved;
Such reprobates, as, past all sense of shaming,
Write on, and ne'er are satisfied with damning:
Next, those, to whom the stage does not belong,
Such whose vocation only is—to song;
At most to prologue, when, for want of time,
Poets take in for journey-work in rhime.
But I want curses for those mighty shoals
Of scribbling Chloris's, and Phyllis' fools:
Those oafs should be restrained, during their lives,