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, ’twould 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, “Blooming with roses all its own; “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; And he who, ’cause he has not seen, Will not believe, hath ne’er, I ween, With due attention mused upon Thy page, O BRITISH SOLOMON! Thus far in preface—Now I’ll tell How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell. By vengeful laws the Wizard brood Long harass’d and at last subdued, Their black Familiars all repair Before the throne of Lucifer, With sad petitions, setting forth Their many grievances on earth, What torments they were doom’d to bear While tending on their Witches there: Some drown’d, to prove their innocence, Or, ’scaping, hang’d on that pretence; Some burnt within their steeple hats, Some nine times murder’d in their Cats: Brief, they petition’d to enjoy Some less adventurous employ, Since witchcraft now was thought so common They were not safe in an old woman.