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Ev’n filly woman has her warlike arts,
But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child-the
Bard ! A thing unteachable in world's skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still. No heels to bear him from the op’ning dun ; No claws to dig, his hated fight to fhun; No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn: No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. In naked feeling, and in aching pride, He bears th' unbroken blaft from ev'ry fide : Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, And scorpion Critics cureless venom dart.
Critics-appall’d, I venture on the name, Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : Bloody difsectors, worse than ten Monroes; He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose.
His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, By blockhead's daring into madness ftung; His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife,
So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed de
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ;,
O Dulness! portion of the truly blest!
Thy fons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes
With deaf endurance fluggishly they bear, And just conclude that “ fools are fortune's
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox.
Not fo the idle Muses' mad-cap train, Not such the workings of their moon-struck
In equanimity they never dwell,
I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear! Already one strong hold of hope is lost, Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears :) O! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! T*****, my other stay, long bless and spare !