Others have sought the filthy stews To sing a dirty slip-shod Muse. Their groping genius, while it rakes The bogs, the common-sew'rs, and jakes, Ordure and filth in rhyme exposes, Disgustful to our eyes and noses; With many a dash — that must offend us, And much ———*———*———*——— ———*———*———*———*——— ———*———*——— Hiatus non deflendus. O Swift! how wouldst thou blush to see, Such are the bards who copy Thee?
