Bays, form'd by nature Stage and Town to blefs,
And act, and be, a Coxcomb with fuccefs.
Dulness with transport eyes the lively Dunce,
Rememb'ring the herself was Pertnels once.
Now (fhame to Fortune!) an ill run at Play
Blank'd his bold visage, and a thin Third day:
Swearing and fupperlefs the Hero fate,

Blafphem'd his Gods, the Dice, and damn'd his Fate.
Then gnaw'd his pen, then dafh'd it on the ground,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profund!
Plung'd for his fenfe, but found no bottom there,
Yet wrote and flounder'd on in meer defpair.
Round him much Embryo, much Abortion lay,
Much future Ode, and abdicated Play:

VARIATIONS.

She ey'd the bard, where fupperlefs he fate, And pin'd unconscious of his rifing fate; Studious he fate, with all his books around, Sinking from thought to thought, &c.— Ver. 121. Round him much Embryo, &c.[ in the former Editions thus,

He roll'd his eyes that witness'd huge difmay, Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay;

IMITATIONS.

He roll'd his eyes that witness'd huge difmay,] --round he throws his eyes,

That witness'd huge affliction and difmay. Milt. B. 1.

Nonfenfe precipitate, like running Lead,

That flip'd thro' Cracks and Zig-zags of the Head:
All that on Folly Frenzy could begat,

Fruits of dull Heat, and Sooterkins of Wit.
Next, o'er his Books his eyes began to roll,
In pleafing memory of all he stole,

How here he fip'd, how there he plunder'd fnug,
And fuck'd ail o'er, like an industrious Bug.
Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat fcenes, and here
The Frippery of crucifi'd Moliere;

There hapless Shakespear, yet of Tibbald fore,
Wish'd he had blotted for himself before.

The reft on outfide merit but prefume,
Or ferve (like other Fools) to fill a room;
Such with their fhelves as due proportion hold,
Or their fond Parents dreft in red and gold;

VARIATIONS.

Volumes, whofe fize the space exactly fill'd,
Or which fond authors were fo good to gild,
Or where, by fculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties not its own.
Here fwells the shelf, &c.-

IMITTATIONS.

The progrefs of a bad poet in his thoughts being (like the progress of the Devil in Milton) through a Chaos, might probably fuggeft this imitation.

Or where the pictures for the page atone,

And Quarles is fav'd by beauties not his own.
Here fwells the fhelf with Ogilby the great;

There, ftamp'd with arms, Newcastle fhines complete; Here all his fuff'ring brotherhood retire,

And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire:

A Gothic Library! of Grace and Rome

Well purg'd, and worthy Settle, Banks, and Blome.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 146. in the firft Edit. it was

Well purg'd and worthy W-y, W-s, and BlAnd in the following alter'd to Withers, Quarles and Blome, on which was the following note.

It was printed in the furreptitious editions, W-ly W-s, who were perfons eminent for good life; the one wrote the Life of Christ in verfe, the other fome valuable pieces in the lyric kind on pious fubjects. The line is here reftor'd according to its original.

"George Withers, was a great pretender to poetical " zeal against the vices of the times, and abused the "greatest perfonages in pow'r, which brought upon "him frequent Correction.

The Marshalfea and New

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 140. In the former Ed.

The page admires new beauties not its own.) "Miraturque novas frondes et non fua poma."

Virg. Gcorge. ii,

But high above, more folid Learning fhone, The Claffics of an Age that heard of none; There Caxton flept, with Wynkyn at his side, One clafp'd in wood, and one in strong cow-hide; There, fav'd by fpice, like Mummies, many a year, Dry Bodies of Divinity appear:

De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,

And here the groaning shelves Philemon bends.
Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,
Redeem'd from tapers and defrauded pies,
Infpir'd he feizes: Thefe an altar raise :
An hecatomb of pure, unfulli'd lays
That altar crowns: a folio Common-place
Founds the whole pile, of all his works the base:
Quartos, octavos, fhape the less'ning pyre;
A twisted Birth-day Ode completes the spire.
Then he Great Tamer of all human art!
First in my care, and ever at my heart;
Dulnefs! whofe good old cause I yet defend,
With whom my mufe began, with whom shall end,

VARIATIONS.

" gate were no strangers to him."

WINSTANLY.

Quarles was as dull a writer, but an honester man,
Blome's books are remarkable for their cuts.

Ver. 162. A twisted, &c.] In the former Ed.
And last, a little Ajax tips the Spire.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 166. With whom my Mufe began, with whom fhall end.]

E'er fince Sir Fopling's Periwig was Praise,
To the last honours of the Butt and Bays:
O thou! of Bus'ness the directing foul!
To this our head like bias to the bowl,

Which, as more pond'rous, made its aim more true,
Obliquely wadling to the mark in view:
O! ever gracious to perplex'd mankind,
Still spread a healing mist before the mind;
And, left we err by Wit's wild dancing light,
Secure us kindly in our native night.

Or, if to Wit a Coxcomb make pretence,
Guard the fure barrier between that and Sense;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 177. Or, if to Wit, &c.] In the former Edit.
Ah! ftill o'er Britain stretch that peaceful wand,
Which lulls th' Helvetian and Batavian land;
Where rebel to thy throne if Science rife,
She does but show her coward face and dies:
There thy good Scholiasts with unweary'd pains
Make Horace flat, and humble Maro's strains :
Here ftudious 1 unlucky moderns fave,

Nor fleeps one error in its father's grave,

IMITATIONS.

"A te principium, tibi desinet.”—Virg. Ecl. viii. Εκ Διὸς αρχώμεσθα, και εις Δία λήγετε Μεσαι.

Theoc.

"Prima dicte mihi, fumma dicende Camoena.”

Hor