Hold on thy course uncheck’d, heroic Wood!
Regardless what the player’s son may prate,
Saint Stephens’ fool, the Zany of Debate-
Who nothing generous ever understood.
London’s twice Prætor! scorn the fool-born jest-
The stage’s scum, and refuse of the players-
Stale topics against Magistrates and Mayors-
City and Country both thy worth attest.
Bid him leave off his shallow Eton wit,
More fit to sooth the superficial ear
Of drunken Pitt, and that pickpocket Peer,
When at their sottish orgies they did sit,
Hatching mad counsels from inflated vein,
Till England, and the nations, reeled with pain.
R. et R.