ON TWO PUBLICATIONS,

ENTITLED

EDITIONS OF TWO OF OUR POETS.

WHEN Critic Science first was known,

Somewhere upon the Muse's ground

The PRUNING KNIFE OF WIT was thrown;

Not that which Aristarchus found:

That had a stout and longer blade,

Would at one stroke cut off a limb;

This knife was delicately made,

Not to dismember, but to trim.

With a short harmless edge a-top,

"Twas made like our prize-fighting swords;

Pages and Chapters 'twould not lop,

But cut off syllables and words.

Well did it wear; and might have worn
Full many an age, yet ne'er the worse;

Till Bentley's hand its edge did turn
On Milton's adamantine verse.

Warburton seized the blunted tool,

Scarce fit for Oyster-opening Drab :

For Critic use 'twas now too dull,

But tho' it would not cut, 't would stab;

Then Shakspeare bled, with every friend

That loved the Bard:-he threaten'd further;

And God knows what had been the end,

Had not Tom Edwards cried out "Murther!"

Confounded at the fearful word,

Awhile he hid the felon steel;

Now gives it Mason, lends it H—;

Ah! see what Gray and Cowley feel!

THE SPLEEN.

I AM not of their mind who say
The World degenerates every day ;

Nor like to hear a churl exclaim,

In rapture at Queen Bess's name,

And cry,

"What happy times were those

"When Ladies with the sun uprose,

"And for their breakfast did not fear

"To eat roast-beef and drink strong-beer!

“Then buxom health and sprightly grace

"Enliven'd every blooming face,

“And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown.”

Nature, still changing, still the same,

Hath so contrived this worldly frame,

That every age shall duly share

The good or ill that flows from Her.

Thus we, a spleenful race, are free

From magic and from sorcery;

While those who lived with good Queen Bess

(As they that know the truth confess)

Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none,

Had Imps and Witches many a one;