No fraud your penetrating eyes can cheat,
None here can Shakspeare’s writing counterfeit.
As well the taper’s base, unlustrous ray,
Might strive to emulate the orb of day,
As modern bards, whom venal hopes inspire,
Can catch one spark of his celestial fire.
If in our scenes your eyes delighted find
Marks that denote the mighty master’s mind;
If at his words, the tears of pity flow,
Your breasts with horror thrill, with rapture glow;