Each man an Afkapart, of ftrength to tofs
For Quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I fweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discovered spy.

279

Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Divine 1 From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure, Whofe Satire's facred, and whose rage fecure : "Tis mine to wash a few light ftains, but theirs To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears. Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit, In time to come, may pass for holy writ.

285

EPILOGUE

TO THE

SATIRE S,

In Two DIALOGUES.

Written in MDCCXXXVIIL

1

THE NEW. YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILD FOU