ONE THOUSAND
SEVEN HUNDRED
AND
THIRTY EIGHT.
DIALOGUE II.
A.
is all a Libel—P—xt—n (Sir) will say.
B. Not yet, my Friend! to-morrow 'faith it may;
And for that very cause I print to day.
How shou'd I fret, to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the Sins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with such Giant-strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising Genius sins up to my Song.
is all a Libel—P—xt—n (Sir) will say.B. Not yet, my Friend! to-morrow 'faith it may;
And for that very cause I print to day.
How shou'd I fret, to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the Sins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with such Giant-strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising Genius sins up to my Song.
A. Yet
