Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/240

230 That scarce a man well-bred in either's deemed, But who has killed, been drunk, and often rhymed. The fools are troubled with a flux of brains, And each on paper squirts his filthy sense; A leash of sonnets and a dull lampoon Set up an author, who forthwith is grown A man of parts, of rhyming, and renown. Even that vile wretch, who in lewd verse each year Describes the pageants and the good Lord Mayor, Whose works must serve the next election day For making squibs, and under pies to lay, Yet counts himself of the inspired train, And dares in thought the sacred name profane. 'But is it nought,' thou'lt say, 'in front to stand, With laurel crowned by White, or Loggan's hand? Is it not great and glorious to be known, Marked out, and gazed at through the wondering town, By all the rabble passing up and down?' So Oates and Bedloe have been pointed at, And every busy coxcomb of the state;