I grieve to think that Waller's blam'd,
Waller, so long, so justly, fam'd.
Then own your Verses writ in Haste,
Or I shall say, you've lost your Taste.
Perhaps your loyal Heart disdains
A Poet, who could take such Pains,
To tune his sweet, immortal Lays
To an usurping Tyrant's Praise:
And, where you hate the Man, I see,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem