Yet e’en their fame from Malice to defend,
Unhappy Poets shall essay to write,
With labour’d lines and verses badly penn’d,
Whate’er the God of Dulness may recite.
Their Names and Portraits on the dusty walls,
With ballads setting forth their high renown,
In rural cottages, or servants halls,
Shall gratify the gaping country clown.
For what incurious mind could e’er resign
The busy bustling pleasures of the town;