The tradesman, Cambridge sophs, and play'rs, Were all together by the ears, About old Cibber's laurel; While real poets, quite asham'd, On such occasion to be name'd, Ne'er meddled with the quarrel. But Phaebus, mov'd to see his *Grace Thus teaz'd and baited for the place, Like any bear of Russia; Cry'd, "Sir, don't prostitute your bays, My Laureat he, who best shall praise, The glorious king of Prussia."
