To add at least my humble meed of praise, (Then, Bowles, the Lord have mercy on thy rhyme!) Now to begin-nor distant need we roam, Kind fate hath sent us Fools enough at home; Our modern Poets, bounteous in th' extreme, Rhyme on, and make waste paper by the ream. Five thousand Lines compos'd-a modest stint! Next Westall must design, and Bulmer print: Then bound with care, and hot-press'd ev'ry sheet, The wonder-working Quarto shines complete! Behold a gaping crowd that never tire! See Busby,† worthy Son of such a Sire, (For truth must own, when all is said and done, The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I." Pope. + Mr. George Frederick Busby, son of the renowned Doctor, notorious for publickly reciting his father's translation of Lucretius to the nobility and gentry, and playing the mountebank on a well-known occasion at Drury Lane. It has been announced that Master George is about to inflict upon the public a translation of the "Thebaid of Statius." The Father's pertness centres in the Son :) He views the audience with theatric stare, Vain Scribbler! and is this, this all thy aim, Art thou content with transitory fame; Fame, that shall haunt thee living, d―n thee dead? Thus dost thou feed our ears, thus art thou fed? But what avails, if faithless to my trust, I hide (you cry) my talent in the dust? Why am I learn'd? Why-Stop this vaunting tone! Is learning nothing then, till fairly known? But still (you quick rejoin) how sweet the sound To hear the murmur of applause go round,— "That's He," (the finger pointed all the while)— "Renown'd for wit and elegance of style; Whom Critic Mawman* puffs, whose senseless whine Boeotian Buchan† quotes, and calls divine.” Come, Phillips, come, for eloquence hath pow'r, Gale Jones his tub shall lend thee for an hour! Whether thou warble in inflated style, King Brian's glories in the "Emerald Isle ;" Mr. Mawman (" His mind unletter'd, though he dealt in Books!") is suspected of dabbling in the "Critical Review." + The Earl of Buchan received Doctor Busby's proposals "with a refined frankness." A certain King of Ireland, one Brian Borhoime, whom Counsellor Phillips describes as a very dove-like, choleric old gentleman: "Look on Brian's verdant grave- Brian-the shield of the Emerald Isle ; Wide-flaming sword of the warrior throng!!! Liberty's beacon! religion's bright star!! C Or "Ireland's hope and England's glory"* praise Stark metre-mad, the lovesick Edwin sends Of jingling splay foot verse, some odds and ends To driv❜lling Asperne,† in whose magazine In April, 1812, Counsellor Phillips dedicated (by permission) "The Emerald Isle," to the Prince Regent, whom he designates "Ireland's Hope and England's Ornament.” Mr. Phillips, in 1815, imputes to his royal patron enormities that "he cannot speak of without danger, because, thank God (?) he cannot think of them without indignation." + Doctor Johnson once remarked that an interesting book might be written on the fortunes of Physicians—And why not on that of Booksellers? In illustration, I subjoin the following" Ode," entitled THOMAS TIBBS. Thomas Tibbs demands my song, Thomas lean, and Thomas long! Th' invet'rate sons of dulness vent their spleen; On a queer, eccentric plan, Prose and verse of authors damn'd, 'Spare thy types, Tom, or we die Keep, O keep thy distance from us, Tibbs-whose christian name is Thomas! Be our lines too long or short; Next, mounted on his rostrum high, |