To you the chief Grievance and Plague of the Time,
Heavy Thrashers of Prose, and Tormentors of Rhime.
You Play-Wights and Authors, with all their Attendance,
The Locusts of Egypt were a civiller Vengeance.
From him who each Action o'th' Publick misconstrues,
To the Makers of Devils, and Sermons, and Monsters;
Than whom there's no Vulture discover can further,
By Instinct, the Approach of Dire Battle and Murder.
To each politick Stroker, or hungry Backbiter,
From the Bawdy Song-Scribler, to the Godly Book-Writer:
Be their Works or their Fortunes, or lucky, or scurvy;
From great Mr. Bays down to little Mr. D---y.
To Satyrical Dick, who has us'd us so kindly,
Though I hope, Mr. Author, to ben't far behind you:
And 'twere best that your Back you'd prepare for a humming,
The Drawer most humbly pre&wblank;
Coming, Sir, Coming!