whom no muse of heav'nly birth inspires,
No judgment tempers when rash genius fires,
Who boast no merit but mere knack of rhime,
Short gleams of sense, and satire out of time,
Who cannot follow where  fancy leads
By  streams o'er  meads;
Who often, but without success, have pray'd
For  ALLITERATION's
Who would, but cannot, with a master's skill
Coin fine new epithets,
thus uncouth, thus ev'ry way unfit
For  poesy, and  wit,
TASTE with contempt beholds, nor deigns to place
Amongst the lowest of her favour'd race.