 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
170
VERSES, from a Certain Club, to some Scriblers against it.
Ye little wits, who aim at Bays,
By venting spleen in rhymes,
Who torture dullness fifty ways,
And chuckle when it chimes.
By venting spleen in rhymes,
Who torture dullness fifty ways,
And chuckle when it chimes.
Be kind—go on—pursue your theme,
Your scribling serves our ends;
For know that mirth is all our scheme,
And they who raise it, friends.
Your scribling serves our ends;
For know that mirth is all our scheme,
And they who raise it, friends.
As such on those, we still shall look,
Who senseless satires write;
And fair transcribe 'em in a book,
To laugh at every night.
Who senseless satires write;
And fair transcribe 'em in a book,
To laugh at every night.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |