The petty vices of the time demand
Another scourging from my fearless hand;
Still are there flocks of geese for me to chase,
Still false pretenders to the 'poet's' place.
Who dare to pile detraction on my name,
Let such beware, for scribblers are my game!
Speed Pegasus! Ye modern pensters small,
Watts, Brydges, Morris, Arnold, have at you all!
Remember well how once upon a time
I poured along the town a flood of rhyme