"Form is the first (the Others bawl); If not, why write in Verse at all? Why not your throbbing Thoughts expose (If verse be such Restraint) in Prose? For surely if you speak your Soul Most freely where there's least Control, It follows you must speak it best By Rhyme (or Reason) unreprest. Blest Hour! be not delayed too long, When Britain frees her Slaves of Song; And barred no more by Lack of Skill, The Mob may crowd _Parnassus_ Hill!..." Just at this Point--for you must know, All this was but the To-and-fro Of MATT and DICK who played with Thought, And lingered longer than they ought (So pleasant 'tis to tap one's Box And trifle round a Paradox!)-- There came--but I forgot to say, 'Twas in the Mall, the Month was May-- There came a Fellow where they sat, His Elf-locks peeping through his Hat, Who bore a Basket. Straight his Load He set upon the Ground, and showed His newest Toy--a Card with Strings. On this side was a Bird with Wings, On that, a Cage. You twirled, and lo! The Twain were one. Said MATT, "E'en so. Here's the Solution in a Word:-- Form is the Cage and Sense the Bird. The Poet twirls them in his Mind, And wins the Trick with both combined." THE SUCCESSFUL AUTHOR. When Fate presents us with the Bays, We prize the Praiser, not the Praise. We scarcely think our Fame eternal If vouched for by the _Farthing Journal_; But when the _Craftsman's_ self has spoken, We take it for a certain Token. This an Example best will show, Derived from DENNIS DIDEROT.