His wand's a modern author's pen;
The ferpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy flaver, venom'd bites;
An equal femblance ftill to keep,
Alike too both conduce to fleep.
This difference only as the God
Drove fouls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goofequill the fcribbling elf,
Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my fimile almost tript,
Yet 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:

But ev'n this deity's existence

Shall lend my fimile affiftance.

Our modern bards! why what a pox

Are they but fenfeless ftones and blocks ?

A DE.

DESCRIPTION

O F

AN

AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.

WHERE the Red Lion staring o'er the way,

Invites each paffing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parfon's black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs fnug,
The Mufe found Scroggen ftretch'd beneath a rug;
A window patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly fhew'd the ftate in which he lay;
The fanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread :
The Royal game of goofe was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The feasons, fram'd with lifting, found a place,

And brave prince William fhew'd his lamp-black face:

The

The rufty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears, the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd tea-cups drefs'd the chimney board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows inftead of bay,
A cap by night-a ftocking all the day!

THE

HER MIT.

A BALL A D.

FIRST PRINTED IN MDCCLXV.