Song CXII., pp.355-356.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

A Sour reformation 

Crawls out-thro’ the nation, 

While dunder-head sages, 

Who hope for good wages, 

Direct us the way. 

Ye sons of the muses, 

Then cloak your abuses; 

And, least you shou’d trample 

On pious example, 

Observe and obey. 

Time-frenzy curers, 

And stubborn nonjurors, 

For want of diversion, 

Now scourge the leud times: 

They’ve hinted, they’ve printed, 

Our vein it profane is, 

And worst of all crimes; 

The clod-pated railers, 

Smiths, coblers and colliers

Have damn’d all our rhimes. 


Under the notion 

Of zeal for devotion, 

The humour has sir’d ‘em, 

And malice inspir’d ‘em, 

To tutor the age: 

But if in season, 

You’d know the true reason; 

The hopes of perferment, 

Is what makes the vermin 

Now rail at the stage. 

Cuckolds and canters, 

With scruples and banters, 

Old Oliver’s peal, 

Against poetry ring: 

But let state revolvers, 

And treason absolvers, 

Excuse if I sing, 

The rebel that chuses 

To cry down the muses, 

Wou’d cry down the king. 



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