Begg'd the landlord to give his respects to all three, And say he'd be happy to see them to tea. 6 "Your Majesty then,' said the Gaius, don't know That a person nam'd Crabbe has been waiting below? 6 'Indeed!' said Apollo, Oh pray let him stay: He'll be much better pleased to be with 'em down stairs, As if some one from court was about to appear :-- Oh, this is the room, my good friend? Ah I see it is ;- And then, with a sort of a look of a blush, And said, 'Will Apollo excuse this intrusion? I might have kept back,--but I thought 'twould look odd, And friendship, you know,-pray how is my dear God?' A smile, followed up by a shake of the head, Cross'd the fine lip of Phoebus, who view'd him, and said,— I'll give you a lesson, Sir, quite your own seeking, And one that you very much want, on plain speaking. Pray have you to learn, and at this time of day, That your views on regard have been all the wrong way One ten thousandth part of the words and the time That you've wasted on praises instead of your rhyme, Might have gained you a title to this kind of freedom; But volumes of endings, lugg'd in as you need 'em, Of hearts and imparts, where's the soul that can read 'em?3 So saying, his eye so alarmingly shone, That ere it could wink, the poor devil was gone. A hem was then heard, consequential and snapping, And a sour little gentleman walk'd with a rap in. He bow'd, look'd about him, seem'd cold, and sat down, And said, I'm surpris'd that you'll visit this town:To be sure, there are one or two of us who know you, But as for the rest, they are all much below you. So stupid, in gen'ral, the natives are grown, They really prefer Scotch reviews to their own; So that what with their taste, their reformers, and stuff, They have sicken'd myself and my friends long enough.' ? "Yourself and your friends!' cried the God in high glee; And pray, my frank visitor, who may you be?' "Who be?' cried the other; 'why really-this tone→→→ The rod, that got rid of the Cruscas and Lauras,— At least in what Dryden has not done himself; And there's something, which even distaste must respect, In the self-taught example, that conquer'd neglect. But not to insist on the recommendations Of modesty, wit, and a small stock of patience, My visit just now is to poets alone, And not to small critics, however well known.' So saying he rang, to leave nothing in doubt, However, he scarcely had got through the door, With Well, Mr. Scott, you have manag'd the town; Now pray, copy less,-have a little temerity, -Try if you can't also manage posterity. -All you add now only lessens your credit; And how could you think too of taking to edite? A great deal's endur'd, where there's measure and rhyme ; But prose such as your's is a pure waste of time, A singer of ballads unstrung by a cough, Who fairly talks on, till his hearers walk off. 'And here,' cried Apollo, 'is one at the door, I need not ask after the plans you've in view; 'Twould be odd, I believe, if I had'nt them too: But there's one thing I've always forgotten to mention, A fancy like your's, that can play it's own part, The poet to this was about to reply, When Moore, coming in, caught the Deity's eye, Who him his hand, and said, Shew me a sight gave That can give a divinity sounder delight, Or that earth should more prize from it's core to the poles, Than the self-improved morals of elegant souls. Repentant I speak it, though when I was wild, My friends should remember the world was a child,- I never much valued your billings and cooings; And since my poor Daphne turned tree in my face, |