While thus my days steal on the wing of time,
Unstain'd by wit, and guiltless of a rhyme,
Unnumber'd ills the dreaded Satirist wait,
Stand fast, Olympus! and support him, Fate!
See! frantic Dulness panting for the war,
Grasps the keen spear, and mounts th' imperial car,
Shrill clarions sound, attending Furies yell,
The length'ning echo howls thro' every cell;
Rous'd by th' inspiring clang, each mighty son,
Congenial offspring of his fire, the Hun,
Slides from his garret formidably gay,
An human vulture darting on his prey.
All they whose science loads th' incumber'd stall,
Who wound the wainscot, and who daub the wall,
Luxurious rogues, that revel once a week
On the rich feast of visto's and ox-cheek;
From the soft lyric to the wretch who squalls
The Mint-born ballad at the end of Paul's,
Around the flag in martial pomp appear,
Curl in the van, and Osborne in the rear.
Th' impatient battle joins, and lo! at once
The same wild phrenzy spreads from dunce to dunce,
Fir'd with one soul, the shirtless legions run,
One hurls a journal, and one darts a pun,
In snip-snap prose vindictive lightnings play,
And loud hoarse thunders rattle thro' the lay.
Quick and more quick, the dire discordant din
Rolls thro' each hall, and roars from inn to inn;
Wakes the loud horrors of the wrangling school,
Where Priscian bawls, and fool re-echoes fool.