Hear now our guests:—‘The critics, sir, they cry,
Merit like yours the critics may defy;’
But this indeed they say, ‘Your varied rhymes,
At once the boast and envy of the times,
In every page, song, sonnet, what you will,
Show boundless genius and unrivalled skill.’
* * * * * * *
Thus fooled, the moon-struck tribe, whose best essays
Sunk in acrostics and in roundelays,
To loftier labors now pretend a call,