Display'd.
23
R——— too is mine, and of the Whiggish Train,
'Twas he that Sung immortal Tamerlane,
Tho' now he dwindles to and humbler Strain.
I help'd to Polish G———th's rough, awkward Lays,
Taught him in Tuneful Lines to Sound our Party's Praise.
W———sh Votes with us, who, tho' he never writ,
Yet passes for a Critick and a Wit.
Van's Bawdy, Plotless Plays were once our Boast,
But now the Poet's in the Builder lost.
On A———son we safely may depend,
A Pension never fails to gain a Friend.
Thro'