Now fades each fairy prospect on my sight;
All nature now appears to make a pause,
Save where the wits the Chronicle who write
Weave drowsy paragraphs to patch my cause.
Beneath these ancient walls, once vocal made
By vote of thanks, which late I found so cheap,
Indignant Justice bids my laurels fade,
The dull co-partners of my folly weep.
For me no more the flaming press shall teem,
Nor busy printers ply their evening care;