"'Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line!'

"Mourn, dabbler in dull party rhyme,

Thy mind's disease, thy name's disgrace.

Ah, lucky! if the hand of Time

Should all thy Muse's crimes efface!

"Mourn—for thy lays are Rancour's lays—

Disgraceful to a Briton born;

And hence each theme of factious praise

Consigns thee to thy Country's scorn."