EPIGRAM, (Are you a Bard, cry'd Doll? I…)

Are you a Bard, cry'd Doll? I thought to see, A man like you, much better company; Spinrhime reply'd, I seldom talk; but think; My pen I dip in gall, and talk in ink! Your thoughts you talk away, they're dull and cold, My thoughts are rich and warm, and turn to gold. Doll now retorted somewhat in a rage, Ah, that reflects upon our tasteless age.