Rowe blush'd, and made way for diminutive Pope,
Whom Shakspeare address'd with a frown,
And said—'Some apology sure I may hope
From you and your friend in the gown.'
'Had the murderous knife which my plays has destroy'd,
By lopping full many a scene,
To make you a lover like him, been employ'd,
How flat Cibber's letter had been.'
Pope sneak'd off confounded; and Hanmer drew near,
Whose softness a savage might melt;