A NEW SIMILE
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ONG had I sought in vain to findA likeness for the scribbling kind;The modern scribbling kind, who writeIn wit, and sense, and nature’s spite:Till reading, I forget what day on, 5A chapter out of Tooke’s Pantheon,I think I met with something there,To suit my purpose to a hair;But let us not proceed too furious,First please to turn to god Mercurius; 10You’ll find him pictur’d at full lengthIn book the second, page the tenth:The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,And now proceed we to our simile. Imprimis, pray observe his hat, 15Wings upon either side—mark that.Well! what is it from thence we gather?Why these denote a brain of feather.A brain of feather! very right,With wit that’s flighty, learning light; 20Such as to modern bard’s decreed:A just comparison,—proceed. In the next place, his feet peruse,Wings grow again from both his shoes;Design’d, no doubt, their part to bear, 25And waft his godship through the air;And here my simile unites,For in a modern poet’s flights,I’m sure it may be justly said,His feet are useful as his head. 30 Lastly, vouchsafe t’observe his hand,Filled with a snake-encircl’d wand;By classic authors term’d caduceus,And highly fam’d for several uses.To wit—most wond’rously endu’d, 35No poppy water half so good;For let folks only get a touch,Its soporific virtue’s such,Though ne’er so much awake before,That quickly they begin to snore. 40Add too, what certain writers tell,With this he drives men’s souls to hell. Now to apply, begin we then;His wand’s a modern author’s pen;The serpents round about it twin’d 45Denote him of the reptile kind;Denote the rage with which he writes,His frothy slaver, venom’d bites;An equal semblance still to keep,Alike too both conduce to sleep. 50This diff’rence only, as the godDrove souls to Tart’rus with his rod,With his goosequill the scribbling elf,Instead of others, damns himself. And here my simile almost tript, 55Yet grant a word by way of postscript.Moreover, Merc’ry had a failing:Well! what of that? out with it—stealing;In which all modern bards agree,Being each as great a thief as he: 60But ev’n this deity’s existenceShall lend my simile assistance.Our modern bards! why what a poxAre they but senseless stones and blocks? [Illustration: ]EDWIN AND ANGELINA (T. Stothard)
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