Rich Soul of Wit and Language, thy high strains
So plunge and puzzle unrefined brains;
That their Illiterate Spirits do not know,
How much to thy Ingenious Pen they owe,
Should my presumptuous Muse attempt to raise
Trophies to thee, she might as well go blaze
Bright Planets with base Colours, or display
The Worlds Creation in a Puppet-Play.
Let this suffice, what Calumnies may chance,
To blur thy Fame, they spring from Ignorance.