For tawdry finery is seen A NEW SIMILE IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. LONG had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind, who write, In wit, and sense, and nature's spite 'Till reading, I forgot what day on, A chapter out of Took's Pantheon, I think I met with something there, To suit my purpose to a hair; But let us not proceed too furious, First please to turn to God Mercurius! You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the second, page the tenth: The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile. Imprimis, pray observe his hat, Wings upon either side-mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that's flighty, learning light; Such as to modern bards decreed ; A just comparison,-proceed, In the next place, his feet peruse, For in a modern poet's flights, Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand, Though ne'er so much awake before, And here my simile almost tript, Well! what of that? out with it-stealing; In which all modern bards agree, Our modern bards! why what a pox DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER. WHERE the Red Lion staring o'er the way, With beer and milk arrears, the frieze was scor'd, |