To Carthy

On his accusing Mr. Dunkin for not publishing his book of Poems.

How different from thine is Dunkin's lot!
Thou'rt curst for publishing, and he for not.

On Carthy's Publishing Several Lampoons, Under the Names of Infamous Poetasters

So witches bent on bad pursuits,
Assume the shapes of filthy brutes.

Thy labours, Carthy, long conceal'd from light,
Piled in a garret, charm'd the author's sight,
But forced from their retirement into day,
The tender embryos half unknown decay;
Thus lamps which burn'd in tombs with silent glare,
Expire when first exposed to open air.