LX.

I say, in my slight way I may proceed To play upon the surface of Humanity. I write the World, nor care if the World read, At least for this I cannot spare its vanity. My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed More foes by this same scroll: when I began it, I Thought that it might turn out so--_now I know it_,[753] But still I am, or was, a pretty poet.