Nor rare the tribe; altho’ at first confin’d To few; and those of scientific mind, But yet not much enlighten’d;--as the spark Of ill-wrought taper makes the night more dark, Such Hargreave, Butler, Fearne, and many more, Whose names have added to the mystic lore, Which all must own was mist enough before.-- But these have had their day; and Preston[45] now Assumes the sway with dictatorial brow. And who is he? from whence? and what his claim To be inscrib’d upon the rolls of fame? In Devon born, he duly serv’d his time, That long five years apprenticeship to crime-- Which at the desk he spent without a bribe,-- The ready copyist, and the unsullen scribe. From Shepherd’s Touchstone next he drew a source Of knowledge useful for his future course; Thence did he learn each deed with curious eye. To scan by practice of anatomy:-- As surgeons carefully dissect the heart, To gain experience of each inward part. Thus plodding on, while greater talents slept, He and his doctrines into notice crept. But novelty is past; and, like the worm, That, for a time, has ta’en some brighter form, Turns to the grub again, when life is gone;-- So Preston’s glory into air hath flown. See in his chamber, where yon mirror hangs! ’Tis there he studies for his court harangues: Harangues, whereby he seldom gains a cause, Yet never fails to win his own applause. He lisps--did not Demosthenes the same, Before with pebbles he that fault o’ercame? What, if conceit possesses Preston’s mind? Pray, was not Cicero as vainly blind? Not that I mean--no, reason aid me there-- With one or other Preston to compare. They shine bright stars of eloquence sublime, Each name untarnish’d by the rust of time; While Preston’s name will last no longer than The brief continuance of his own short span. Fate in himself hath wisely plac’d the key Of all he ever was, is, or shall be. His praise with life shall to the grave descend, One common burial and one common end!-- Unless, perchance in folly’s rank supreme, He still may live to be of mirth the theme, When those, who pass yon barren moors, shall state How well he tried those heaths to cultivate; Raise vegetation from the granite stone, And rule the will of nature by his own.