III

Dear Cimon Gray,
The other day,
When you sent me some rhyme,
I could not then just ascertain
Its worth, for want of time.

But now today, good Mr. Gray,
I've read it o'er and o'er,
Tried all my skill, but find I'm still
Just where I was before.

We auld wives' minions gie our opinions,
Solicited or no;
Then of its fau'ts my honest thoughts
I'll give — and here they go.

Such d — 'd bombast no time that 's past
Will show, or time to come,
So, Cimon dear, your song I'll tear,
And with it wipe my [bum].