Warton, to whom the critic powers belong! Judge of the poet! master of the song! Whose learned labours trace the source of rhime, And snatch the poet from the wrecks of time! O thou whose call the harmonious muse obeys! Why slowly linger the vindictive lays; While fearless Pindar triumphs in his shame, And madly wounds the Monarch's honour'd name? Here point thine anger, here exhaust thy rage, And mark with infamy his fictious page. And, since no laws the libeller can awe, Let satire rise, th' indignant poet's law!
