Behold him, humbly cringing, wait 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: Fill reading, I forget what day on, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there, To suit my purpose to a hair; But let us not proceed too furious, Fist 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 ? 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, Denote the rage with which he writes, And here my simile almost tript, |