Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State.—
What a frightful idea, one’s mind to o’erwhelm!
What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be let loose of it,
If, when of age, every man in the realm
Had a voice like old Laïs,[5] and chose to make use of it;
No—never was known in this riotous sphere
Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear.
So bad, too, you’d swear that the God of both arts,
Of Music and Physic, had taken a frolic
For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts,