74 LOVE of FAME. Sat. IV.

Ah! what avails it, when his dinner's lost,f That his triumphant name adorns a post ?f Or that his shining page, (provoking fate!)t*.Defends Sirloyns, which sons of dullness eat?What foe to verse without compassion hears?What cruel profe-man can refrain from tears?When the poor muse, for less than half a crown,A prostitute on every bulk in town,

With other whores undone, tho’ not in print,Clubs credit for Geneva in the Mint ?

Ye bards! why will you sing, tho' uninfpir’d?Ye bards! why will you starve , to bzadmir'd?c Defun£i by ‘Phoebus' laws, beyond redress,

Why will your spectres haunt the frighted press?Bad metre, that excrescence of the head .

Like hair* will sprout, altho’ the poet’s dead.

All other trades demand , Verfe-makers beg i4 A Dedication is a wooden leg ;

An4