The cover, ev’n, a monument of art.
Yet as you read, Suffenus, who till then
Seemed the most pleasant of all gentlemen,
Becomes offensive as the country boor,
Who milks rank goats beside his cottage door,
Or digs foul ditches: such a change is wrought
By rhymes with neither sense nor music fraught.
So crazed is he with this same wretched rhyme,
That never does he know so blest a time
As when he writes away, and fondly deems