Scribbleomania Or, The Printer's Devil's Polichronicon. A Sublime Poem. Edited by Anser Pen-drag-on [i.e. S. W. H. Ireland] |
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THE WRITER TO HIS POETIC
BRETHREN. |
 | Scribbleomania |  |
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THE WRITER TO HIS POETIC BRETHREN.
—Mediocribus esse poetis
Non Dii, non homines, non concessere columnæ.
Horace.
Non Dii, non homines, non concessere columnæ.
Horace.
With poets mediocrity is not allowable, either by gods, or men, or the pillars which support the shops of the booksellers.
My prelude thus ended, I next, by degrees,
Must enact all the toils of renown'd Hercules;
For the theme is so copious of Scribblecumdash,
I already feel symptoms bespeaking me rash;
Since to bring in one focus all scribes—I'm less able,
Than to jabber with each tribe of workmen at Babel.
We're told a faint heart will not fair lady win;
Thus I ne'er shall conclude, if I never begin:
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Tally ho! Tally ho! dash it bold o'er the plain;
Extol in thy race ev'ry son of Apollo,
And spurn with thine hoofs sconces all that are hollow;
Be justice the symbol that marks thy career,
For the organ of Truth is disdainful of fear:
I'faith, I've no rancour, nor mean I to show it;
In person I scarce know e'en one living Poet.
Their labours I've studied, and act from cool reason;
Thus folly and sense share due comments in season.
The flights of bold fancy shall first claim the stricture,
For poets stand foremost on Noodle's grand picture,
From high vaunted Scot that has caus'd hue and cry O!
To Rickman, self-dubb'd after great Mistress Clio.
| Scribbleomania | |