DIRFCT INJURIES FROM MOTHS. 5^ 



On every corner fix thine eye, 

 Or ten to one lie slips tlieo by. 



See where his teeth a passage eat ; 

 We'll rouse him fiom the deep retreat. 

 But who the shelter's forccil to give ? 

 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live ! 

 From leaf to leaf, from song to song, 

 He draws the tadpole form along, 

 He mounts the gilded edge before. 

 He's up, he scuds the cover o'er ; 

 He turns — he doubles — there he past. 

 And here we have him caught at last. 



Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse 

 The sweetest servants of the muse I 

 (Nay, never offer to deny, 

 I took thee in the fact to fly.) 

 His roses nipt in every page. 

 My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage. 

 By thee my Ovid wounded lies ; 

 By thee my Lcshia's sparrow dies ; 

 Thy rabid teeth have half destroy 'd 

 The work of love in Biddy Floyd ; 

 They sent Belinda's locks away. 

 And spoil'd the Blouzclind of Gay. 

 For all, for every single deed, 

 Relentless justice bids thee bleed. 

 Then fall a victim to the Nine, 

 Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. 



Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso, near. 

 To pile a s.U'rcd altar here : 

 Hold, boy, thy hand outruns thy wit ; 

 You reach 'd the plays that Dennis writ ; 

 You reach'd me Philip's rustic strain — 

 Pray take your mortal bards again. 



