If one man steals, why not another? A Poet, sure, may rob a BROTHER. The rhyming race were always poor, But now, THEY BEG FROM DOOR TO DOOR! Shakespear, you know, has stol'n himself, Abundance of poetic pelf From NATURE; tho' she gave him more Than all her eldest born before. Poor Cumberland! a starving wight, To pilf'ring then may claim a right; Since GENIUS has not giv'n one farthing, To save th' hung'ry bard from starving. Hastings is THEFT, but do not HISS IT, Shakespear, I'm sure, will never miss it; And was he wak'd from dust, and SHEWN IT, He'd die again, — before HE'D OWN IT! Salopian Coffee-house, Jan. 29, 1778.
