Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can see
Th' extremes of wit and meanness join'd in thee!
Flames that cou'd mount, and gain their kindred skies,
Low creeping in the putrid sink of vice:
A Muse whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The pimp of pow'r, the prostitute to gain:
Wreaths, that shou'd deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To strumpets, traitors, tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd parts, the scorn of honest fame;
And genius rise, a monument of shame!