These are the arts by which a thousand live,
Where Truth may smile, and Justice may forgive: —
But when, amidst this rabble rout, we find
A puffing poet to his honour blind:
Who slily drops quotations all about
Packet or Post, and points their merit out;
Who advertises what reviewers say,
With sham editions every second day;
Who dares not trust his praises out of sight,
But hurries into fame with all his might;
Although the verse some transient praise obtains,
Contempt is all the anxious poet gains.