English Bards.
'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.
As soon
Seek roses in December—ice in June.
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff.
Believe a woman, or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the
Psalms.
O Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!