Milton and Arne taught how to laugh and sport.
There Boyce and Dryden wak’d with hound the morn.
Or vocal Johnny Beard, with early horn.
There the apt tune in timely moment play’d,
To fill each pause the exeunt had made.
But now simplicity’s soft accents fail,
And Irish jigs th’insulted ear assail.
No friends to Nature on the boards now tread,
But all truth’s faithful portraiture is fled!
* * * * *