And Britain’s senate opes a ready door,
To fill the seat his sire had fill’d before,
There when some question of great moment springs,
He’ll rise—then “hear him, hear him,” loudly rings,
He speaks—th’ enraptur’d list’ning through admire
His voice, his argument, his genius’ fire!
The fond old man, in pure ecstatic joy,
Blesses the gods that gave him such a boy!
But if insipid Dulness guide his tongue,
With what sharp pangs his aged heart is wrung—