Next, in what rare production shall we trace Such various subjects in so small a space? As the first ship upon the waters bore Incongruous kinds who never met before; Or as some curious virtuoso joins In one small room, moths, minerals, and coins, Birds, beasts, and fishes; nor refuses place To serpents, toads, and all the reptile race; So here compress'd within a single sheet, Great things and small, the mean and mighty meet. 'Tis this which makes all Europe's business known, Yet here a private man may place his own: And, where he reads of Lords and Commons, he May tell their honours that he sells rappee. Add next th' amusement which the motley page Affords to either sex and every age: Lo! where it comes before the cheerful fire,- Damps from the press in smoky curls aspire (As from the earth the sun exhales the dew), Ere we can read the wonders that ensue: Then eager every eye surveys the part That brings its favourite subject to the heart; Grave politicians look for facts alone, And gravely add conjectures of their own: The sprightly nymph, who never broke her rest For tottering crowns or mighty lands oppress'd, Finds broils and battles, but neglects them all For songs and suits, a birth-day, or a ball: The keen warm man o'erlooks each idle tale For "Monies wanted," and "Estates on Sale;" While some with equal minds to all attend, Pleased with each part, and grieved to find an end. So charm the news; but we who, far from town, Wait till the postman brings the packet down, Once in the week, a vacant day behold, And stay for tidings, till they're three days old: That day arrives; no welcome post appears, But the dull morn a sullen aspect wears: We meet, but ah! without our wonted smile, To talk of headaches, and complain of bile; Sullen we ponder o'er a dull repast, Nor feast the body while the mind must fast. A master passion is the love of news, Not music so commands, nor so the Muse: Give poets claret, they grow idle soon; Feed the musician and he's out of tune; But the sick mind, of this disease possess'd, Flies from all cure, and sickens when at rest. Now sing, my Muse, what various parts compose These rival sheets of politics and prose. First, from each brother's hoard a part they draw, A mutual theft that never feared a law; Whate'er they gain, to each man's portion fall, And read it once, you read it through them all: For this their runners ramble day and night, To drag each lurking deed to open light; For daily bread the dirty trade they ply, Coin their fresh tales, and live upon the lie: Like bees for honey, forth for news they spring,- Industrious creatures! ever on the wing; Home to their several cells they bear the store, Cull'd of all kinds, then roam abroad for more. No anxious virgin flies to "fair Tweed-side;" No injured husband mourns his faithless bride; No duel dooms the fiery youth to bleed; But through the town transpires each vent'rous deed. Should some fair frail one drive her prancing pair