Ye solemn critics! wheresoe’er you’re seated,
To grant a favour, may you be entreated?
For which I’ll pay you proper adoration,
And strive to please you—that is my vocation.
Then do not frown, but give due share of praise,
Nor rend from Shakspeare’s tomb the sacred bays.
The scatter’d flow’rs he left, benignly save!
Posthumous flow’rs! the garland of the grave!
What, tho’ he liv’d two hundred years ago,