Their tuneful empire, but their pride confin’d,
Forbade pert Nonsense to usurp the throne
Of Taste, and banish genius from mankind.
Oft pilfer’d airs and borrow’d strains to hide.
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
And feed the fondness of a Fidler’s pride
With dull pretences to a Muse’s flame.
Far from the merry wake, and rustic ball,
No vain pursuits, their sober wishes led;
Along the streets and round his worship’s hall