A bard to wisdom and to wit unknown;
Thalia smil’d not on the scribbling elf,
But gentle dulness mark’d him for her own.
Coy from his suit the Muses turn’d away,
“A Day in London” ill his toil requites;
He gave the town, t’was all he had—a play;
The town denied his only wish—nine nights!
No further seek his writings to deride,
Nor try to mend what sentiment has marr’d,
Oblivion’s veil his comedy shall hide,