Three poets, in one lucky century born, Old England, Ireland, and Scotia, did adorn. One hated all mankind worse than the D—l; One lov'd all women, whether good or evil; The third, true to the land from whence he came, Lov'd money best; and who the man can blame? Since one rich bard will more observance find, Than twenty wandering Homers, poor and blind; And rhyme and wealth, united, raise more wonder, Than Genius cloth'd in lightning, rags, and thunder.
