Mistaken, perverse, crooked is thy mind!
No humble son of merit thou wilt save,
Truth, virtue, ne'er from thee did friendship find;
And while of freedom thou canst fume and rave,
Of titles, party, wealth, thou art the cringing slave!
XIX.
'Thou hast renounced Nature for thy guide,
A thousand times hast given thyself the lie,
And raised thy party-curs to wealth and pride,
The very scavengers of poetry.