So great a mischief as the critic curse.
Our souls one minute have not rested quiet
Since carps, we know, was Ignoramus' diet.
If Wisdom's fetial call to the sand
220We have revenge; our standish is at hand,
That rights our wrongs: but 'gainst Don Silly's rails
The fist is heaved, for paper naught avails.
We sate in counsel, did intend to sue
With a petition to this noble crew;
The substance this, that ye would either give