To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics

Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew! My strains were never meant for you; Remorseless Rancour still reveal, And damn the verse you cannot feel. Invoke those kindred passions' aid, Whose baleful stings your breasts pervade; Crush, if you can, the hopes of youth, Trampling regardless on the Truth: Truth's Records you consult in vain, She will not blast her native strain; She will assist her votary's cause, His will at least be her applause, Your prayer the gentle Power will spurn; To Fiction's motley altar turn, Who joyful in the fond address Her favoured worshippers will bless: And lo!…