To hiss the varied fictions of each hour,
Supreme in judgment, arbiters of wit.
Let not rich aldermen the feasts deride
To which necessity the Poet calls;
For Nature, bounteous parent, can provide
Delicious fare apart from Gilded Walls.
Faint are the joys which Ven’son can bestow,
Faint is the pleasure Turtle can impart;
By sad experience we are taught to know,
These aching limbs succeed, with anguish’d heart.