In two large columns on thy motley page,
Where Roman wit is strip’d with English rage;
Where ribaldry to satire makes pretence;
And modern scandal rolls with ancient sense:
Whilst on one side we see how Horace thought;
And on the other how he never wrote:
Who can believe, who view the bad and good,
That the dull copyist better understood
That Spirit, he pretends to imitate,
Than heretofore that Greek he did translate?