Your News and Review, sir.
I’ve read throughand through, sir,
With little admiring or blaming;
The Papers are barren
Of home-news or foreign,
Nomurders or rapes worththe naming.

Our friends, the Reviewers,
Those chippers and hewers,
Are judges of mortar and stone, sir;
Butof meet orunmeet,
In a fabric complete,
I’ll boldly pronounce they are none, sir;

My goose-quill too rude is
To tell all your goodness
Bestow’d on your servant, the Poet;
Would to God I had one
Like a beam of the sun,
And then all the world, sir, should know it!