Or if to ginger-bread thou shalt descend, And liquorish learning to thy babes extend; Or sugared plane, o'erspread with beaten gold, Does the sweet treasure of thy letters hold; Thou still shalt be my song--Apollo's choir I scorn to invoke; Cadmus my verse inspire: 'Twas Cadmus who the first materials brought Of all the learning which has since been taught, Soon made complete! for mortals ne'er shall know More than contained of old the Christ-cross row; What masters dictate, or what doctors preach, Wise matrons hence e'en to our children teach: But as the name of every plant and flower (So common that each peasant knows its power) Physicians in mysterious cant express, To amuse the patient, and enhance their fees; So from the letters of our native tongue, Put in Greek scrawls, a mystery too is sprung, Schools are erected, puzzling grammars made, And artful men strike out a gainful trade; Strange characters adorn the learned gate, And heedless youth catch at the shining bait; The pregnant boys the noisy charms declare, And Tau's and Delta's, make their mothers stare; The uncommon sounds amaze the vulgar ear, And what's uncommon never costs too dear. Yet in all tongues the Horn-book is the same, Taught by the Grecian master, or the English dame. But how shall I thy endless virtues tell, In which thou durst all other books excel? No greasy thumbs thy spotless leaf can soil, Nor crooked dog-ears thy smooth corners spoil; In idle pages no errata stand, To tell the blunders of the printer's hand: No fulsome dedication here is writ, Nor flattering verse, to praise the author's wit: The margin with no tedious notes is vexed, Nor various readings to confound the text: All parties in thy literal sense agree, Thou perfect centre of concordancy! Search we the records of an ancient date, Or read what modern histories relate, They all proclaim what wonders have been done By the plain letters taken as they run: 'Too high the floods of passion used to roll, And rend the Roman youth's impatient soul; His hasty anger furnished scenes of blood, And frequent deaths of worthy men ensued: In vain were all the weaker methods tried, None could suffice to stem the furious tide, Thy sacred line he did but once repeat, And laid the storm, and cooled the raging heat.'