Epigram On Seeing Mr. Nutes, A Senseless, Unfeeling Fellow, Weep At The Representation Of King Lear

Henceforth at miracles who'll dare to mock?
No wonder Orpheus' lyre could move the brutes,
Or Moses' rod strike water from the rock;
Lo! Shakspeare's genius melts the heart of Nutes,
Draws tears of pity from a barber's block!

* * * * *

A quack, a mere anatomy,
Wanting to buy a nag,
Questions his friend, a wag,
What colour it shall be:
'White,' he replies, 'let it be white, of course,
For then you'll look like Death on the pale horse.'