Could aweful JOHNSON want poetic ear,
Fancy, or judgment?—no! his splendid strain,
In prose, or rhyme, confutes that plea.—The pain
Which writh’d o’er GARRICK’S fortunes, shows us clear
Whence all his spleen to Genius.—Ill to bear
A friend’s renown, that to his own must reign,
Compared, a meteor’s evanescent train,
To Jupiter’s fix’d orb, proves that each sneer,
Subtle and fatal to poetic sense,
Did from insidious Envy meanly flow,
Illumed with dazzling hues of eloquence,
And sophist-wit, that labour to o’er-throw
Th’ awards of Ages, and new laws dispense
That lift the Mean, and lay the Mighty low.