Condemned to live in thy apostate rhymes,
The curse of ours, and scoff of future times.
}
Still tacking round with every turn of state, }
Reverse to Shaftesbury, thy cursed fate }
Is always, at a change, to come too late. }
To keep his plots from coxcombs, was his care;
His villainy was masked, and thine is bare.
}
Wise men alone could guess at his design, }