Fortune, more chary with the sickle,
Had ranked him next to Garth or Tickell;
He might have even dared to hope
A line’s malignity from Pope!
But now, when folks are hard to please,
And poets are as thick as—peas,
The Fates are not so prone to flatter,
Unless, indeed, a friend. . . . No matter.
The book, then, had a minor credit.
The critics took, and doubtless read it.