The Temple of Fame.
35
What you (she cry'd) unlearn'd in Arts to please,
Slaves to your selves, and ev'n fatigu'd with Ease,
Who lose a Length of undeserving Days;
Wou'd you usurp the Lover's dear-bought Praise?
To just Contempt, ye vain Pretenders, fall,
The Peoples Fable, and the Scorn of all.
Strait the black Clarion sends a horrid Sound,
Loud Laughs burst out, and bitter Scoffs fly round,
Whispers were heard, with Taunts reviling loud,
And scornful Hisses ran thro' all the Croud.
Last, those who boast of mighty Mischiefs done,
Enslave their Country, or usurp a Throne;
Or who their Glory's dire Foundation laid,
On Sovereigns ruin'd, or on Friends betray'd,
Calm
