With verses, soft as music of the spheres.
‘Verses!—alas! his lordship seldom reads:
Pedants indeed with learning stuff their heads;
But my good lord, as all the world can tell,
Reads not even tradesmen’s bills, and scorns to spell.
But trust your lays with me—some things I’ve read,
Was born a poet, tho’ no poet bred:
And if I find they’ll bear my nicer view,
I’ll recommend your poetry—and you.’
Shock’d at his civil impudence, I start,