On Lord Thurlow's Poems

When Thurlow this damned nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent)
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.

And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise--
Why would they let him print his lays?

* * *

* * *

To me, divine Apollo, grant--O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;

And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining,--
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.