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Yes ;_You
And half a dozen more, my friend,
Whom your good Taste shall recommend.
Experience will by facts prevail,
When argument and reason fail;


Whose nuptials, fir?-

A U T H O R.

A Poet's did that poem ftir ?
No-fixt-tho' thousand readers pass,
It still looks through its pane of glass,
And seems indignant to exclaim
Pass on ye Sons of Taste, for shame!

While duly each revolving moon,
Which often comes, God knows too soon,
Continual plagues my soul molest,
And Magazines disturb my rest,

A 2


While scarce a night I steal to bed,
Without a couplet in my head,
And in the morning, when I stir,
Pop comes a Devil, “Copy sir.”
I cannot strive with daring flight
To reach the bold Parnafian HEIGHT ;
But at its foot, content to stray,
In, easy unambitious way,
Pick up those flowers the muses send,
To make a nosegay for my friend.
In short, I lay no idle claim
To genius strong, and noisy fame.
But with a hope and wish to please,
I write, as I would live, with ease.


you must have a fund, a mine, Profe, poems, letters

A V T H O R.

Not a line.
And here, my friend, I rest secure ;
He can't lose much, who's always poor.
And if, as now, thro’ numbers five,
This work with pleasure kept alive,
Can still its currency afford,
Nor fear the breaking of its hoard,


Can pay you, as at sundry times,
For self per Mag, two thousand Rhimes,
From whence should apprehension grow,
That self should fail, with richer Co?

No doer of a monthly grub,
Myself alone a learned club,
I alk


readers to no treat
Of scientifick hasi’d-up meat,
Nor seek to please theatric friends
With scraps of plays, and odds and ends.

Your method, fir, is plain enough;
And all the world has read


Th’allufion's neat, expression clean,
About your travelling MACHINE,
But yet it is a Magazine.

Why let it be, and wherefore shame?
As Juliet says, what's in a name?
Besides it is the way of trade,
Through which all science is convey’d,


* See a Poem, called the Puff, in the first Volume of Mr. Lloyd's Magazine.

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Thus knowledge parcels oụt her shares;
The Court has hers, the LAWYERS theirs.
Something to SCHOLARS sure is due,
Why not one MAGAZINE for You?

That's an Herculean task, my friend,
You toil and labour - to offend.
Part of your scheme - a free translation,
To SCHOLARS is a profanation ;
What! break up Latin! pull down Greek !
(Peace to the soul of fir John CheekE ! *)
And shall the gen'rous liquor run,
Broach'd from the rich FALERNIAN tun?
Will you pour out to English swine,
Neat as imported, old GREEK wine?
Alas ! such beverage only fits
Collegiate tastes, and classic wits.

AV T H O R. I seek not, with fatyric stroke, To ftrip the pedant of his cloak; No - let him cull and spout quotations, And call the jabber, demonstrations ; Be his the great concern to shew, If Roman gowns were tied or no; †

* The first restorer of Greek learning in England. + See SIGONIUS and MANUTIUS,


Whether the Grecians took a slice
Four times a-day, or only twice,
Still let him work about his hole,
Poor, busy, blind, laborious mole;
Still let him puzzle, read, explain,
Oppugn, remark, and read again.

Such, though they waste the midnight oil
In dull, minute, perplexing toil,
Not understanding, do no good,
Nor can do harm, not understood.

By scholars, apprehend me right,
I mean the learned, and polite,
Whose knowledge unaffected flows,
And sits as easy as their cloaths ;
Who care not though an ac or sed
Misplac’d, endanger Priscian's head;
Nor think his wit a grain the worse,
Who cannot frame a Latin verse,
Or give the Roman proper word
To things the ROMANS never heard.

'Tis true, except among the Great, Letters are rather out of date,

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