With Treasons past perplex’d, and present Cares;
A Fop in Rhime, and Bungler in Affairs.
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And here! a Groupe of Brother Quill-men see,
Co-witlings all, and Demi-bards like Thee;
Such whom the Muse shall pass with just Disdain,
Nor add one Trophy to thy mottly Train:
But Quack Arb——t shall Oblivion blot,
That puzzling, plodding, prating, pedant Scot!