From all the rest your office varies,
Is so exempt from pert vagaries,
I cease to write, as cease to think,—
You cost me scarce one dip of ink.
At least, thanks to the 'march of Mind,'
(In which so few now lag behind,)
My author's words, if e'er so true,
Are really much too coarse for you.
Fain would I yield all his jocoseness,
And all his wit without his grossness.