If none do yet return th’ intended blow,
You all your safety to your dullness owe:
But whilst that armour thy poor corps defends,
’Twill make thy readers few, as are thy friends;
Those, who thy nature loath’d, yet lov’d thy art,
Who lik’d thy head, and yet abhorr’d thy heart;
Chose thee, to read, but never to converse,
And scorn’d in prose, him whom they priz’d in verse;
Even they shall now their partial error see,
Shall shun thy writings, like thy company,