But should you all the mighty mad defeat,
Who howl in Bedlam, and who stun the Fleet,
See the pert critic tremble to engage,
Wit blunt her sting, and Envy drop her rage;
Yet can poor Innocence to mercy awe
Those deadlier pests, the harpies of the law?
Another P—n shields each worthless lord,
Arms the dread scourge, and whets th' avenging sword,
Where he, great genius! throws his letter'd eye,
Truth stares a libel, Honesty a lye,
Young embryo treasons in each period shine,
And fancy'd poisons kill thro' every line.
He sure will curb you, tho' my precepts fail,
No stoic bullies when he smells a jail,
Conscious that Wisdom mounts her throne too late,
When doom'd to warble ethics thro' a grate.