Dogs, or men!—for I flatter you[368] in saying

That ye are dogs—your betters far—ye may

Read, or read not, what I am now essaying

To show ye what ye are in every way.

As little as the moon stops for the baying

Of wolves, will the bright Muse withdraw one ray

From out her skies—then howl your idle wrath!

While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path.