Thy Muse, that Prostitute abandon’d Jade,
Now flounders in the Mire without Swift’s Aid.
Thy base Invectives Men no more regard;
With just Disdain thy Scare-Crow Muse is heard.
So when the latent Seeds their Fruits display,
And gain fresh Vigour from a genial Ray:
The careful Hind a monst’rous Figure frames;
From various Rags unwonted Terror streams.
The feather’d Choristers in Flocks retreat,
And at a Distance view the tempting Bait.