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A querulous old woman's voice
He scolds and gives the lie.
Poor Poll is like to die!
The language and the tone,
And both in unison.
We think them tedious creatures;
And women are the teachers.
THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE.
· ANDROCLES, from his injured lord in dread Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled, Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with
:heat, . He spied at length a cavern's cool retreat; But scarce had given to rest his weary frame, When, hugest of his kind, a lion came:
He roar'd approaching: but the savage din
Mute with astonishment the' assembly gaze: But why, ye Romans ? Whence your mute amaze? All this is natural: Nature bade him rend An enemy; she bids him spare a friend.
THRACIAN parents, at his birth,
Mourn their babe with many a tear, But with undissembled mirth
Place him breathless on his bier. Greece and Rome, with equal scorn,
“O the savages!' exclaim, • Whether they rejoice or mourn,
Well entitled to the name?' But the cause of this concern,
And this pleasure would they trace, Even they might somewhat learn
From the savages of Thrace.
MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT
TO BE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUE.
(Its excellence is such)
The ladies thumb it much.
And, things with words compared,
Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue
A golden edging boast;
Twelve pages at the most.
Nor name, nor title, stamp'd behind,
Adorns its outer part;
A magazine of art.
The whitest hands that secret hoard
Oft visit: and the fair
As with a miser's care.
Thence implements of every size,
And form’d for various use (They need but to consult their eyes),
They readily produce.
The largest and the longest kind
Possess the foremost page;
Or nearly such from age.
The full charged leaf, which next ensues,
Presents in bright array
Not quite so blind as they.
The third, the fourth, the fifth supply
What their occasions ask,
Perform a nicer task.
But still with regular decrease,
From size to size they fall,
The last are least of all.
O! what a fund of genius, pent
In narrow space, is here!
How luminous and clear!
It leaves no reader at a loss,
Or posed, whoever reads;
Nor even index needs.
Search Bodley's many thousands o'er!
No book is treasured there, Nor yet in Granta's numerous store,
That may with this compare.
No!-Rival none in either host
Of this was ever seen,
So brilliant and so keen.