’Tis sad:—but wherefore bend this way thy steps?
C. M.
I come to seek some high and gifted bard,
Whose fiery genius with just judgment temper’d,
May vindicate my rights; and with strong satire
Whip the vile ignorant triflers from the stage.
P.
What! is there none alive of power sufficient?
Lives not the attic wit of Sheridan?
C. M.