In which we do not doubt but they're difcerning,
For that's a kind of Affignation Learning:
Beaus judge of Drefs; the Witlings judge of Songs;
The Cuckoldom, of Ancient Right, to Cits belongs.
Thus poor Poets, the Favour are deny'd,
Even to make Exceptions, when they're Try'd.
'Tis hard that they muß ev'ry one admit:
Methinks I fee fome Faces in the Pit,
Which must of Confequence be Foes to Wit.
You who can fudge, to Sentence may proceed;
But tho' he cannot Write, let him be freed
At least from their Contempt, who cannot Read.