He lives: but, oh, disgrace to letters! long
Has left me for the sweets of dissipation,
Left me whose hand had crowned his head with honours,
And still would crown,—to join the noisy band
Of brawling, jangling, patriot politicians.
At length his wonderful deserts have raised him[7]
To the top of office; and the quondam play-wright.
Ungrateful scorning fair Thalia’s favours,
Courts the green Naiades of Somerset.
P.