Or, pleased, behold a youthful censor rise,
Disdain and anger flashing from his eyes;
Who tears the silken rose to show the thorn,
Bids Genius quaff the bitter draught of scorn,
Spurns the soft charities of social life,
And rends the veil that hid domestic strife?
Prompt with misguided hand, and zeal misplaced,
The keen, bright shafts of ridicule to waste.
Pope, brilliant star of our Augustan age,
For dulness and for guilt reserved his rage.