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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 30m

Where, eas'd of fleets, the Adriatic main Wafts the smooth eunuch and enamour'd swain.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 1h

But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps, And Cupids ride the lion of the deeps;

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 2h

To lands of singing, or of dancing, slaves, Love-whisp'ring woods, and lute-resounding waves.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 3h

To isles of fragrance, lily-silver'd vales, Diffusing languor in the panting gales:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 4h

To happy convents, bosom'd deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 5h

Or Tyber, now no longer Roman, rolls, Vain of Italian arts, Italian souls:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 6h

To where the Seine, obsequious as she runs, Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons;

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 7h

There all thy gifts and graces we display, Thou, only thou, directing all our way!

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 8h

Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew; Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 9h

Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down, Stunn'd with his giddy larum half the town.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 10h

Thro' school and college, thy kind cloud o'ercast, Safe and unseen the young neas past:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 11h

Thou gavest that ripeness, which so soon began, And ceas'd so soon, he ne'er was boy nor man.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 12h

The sire saw, one by one, his Virtues wake; The mother begg'd the blessing of a Rake.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 13h

Thine from the birth, and sacred from the rod, A dauntless infant! never scared with God.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 14h

When thus th' attendant orator begun: 'Receive, great Empress! thy accomplish'd son;

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 15h

The first came forwards with as easy mien, As if he saw St. James's and the Queen.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 16h

Some would have spoken, but the voice was drown'd By the French horn or by the opening hound.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 17h

In flow'd at once a gay embroider'd race, And titt'ring push'd the pedants off the place:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 18h

Walker! our hat!'--nor more he deign'd to say, But stern as Ajax' spectre strode away.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 19h

But wherefore waste I words? I see advance Whore, pupil, and laced governor from France.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 20h

Then take him to develop, if you can, And hew the Block off, and get out the Man.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 21h

With the same cement, ever sure to bind, We bring to one dead level ev'ry mind:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 22h

Or, set on metaphysic ground to prance, Show all his paces, not a step advance.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 23h

Full in the midst of Euclid dip at once, And petrify a Genius to a Dunce:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

We only furnish what he cannot use, Or, wed to what he must divorce, a Muse:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

He may indeed (if sober all this time) Plague with Dispute, or persecute with Rhyme.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Never by tumbler thro' the hoops was shown Such skill in passing all, and touching none.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

'What tho' we let some better sort of fool Thrid ev'ry science, run thro' ev'ry school?

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

So spins the silkworm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head With all such reading as was never read:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

See! still thy own, the heavy Canon roll, And metaphysic smokes involve the pole.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Nor could a Barrow work on ev'ry block, Nor has one Atterbury spoil'd the flock!

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Thine is the genuine head of many a house, And much divinity without a [nous].

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Like buoys, that never sink into the flood, On learning's surface we but lie and nod.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

'Ah, think not, Mistress! more true dulness lies In Folly's cap, than Wisdom's grave disguise.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Are things which Kuster, Burman, Wasse shall see; When man's whole frame is obvious to a flea.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

How parts relate to parts, or they to whole, The Body's harmony, the beaming Soul,

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

The critic eye, that microscope of wit, Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

What Gellius or Stobaeus hash'd before, Or chew'd by blind old scholiasts o'er and o'er.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

In ancient sense if any needs will deal, Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal;

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek, I poach in Suidas for unlicens'd Greek.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

For me what Virgil, Pliny, may deny, Manilius or Solinus shall supply:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Let Friend affect to speak as Terence spoke, And Alsop never but like Horace joke:

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

To sound or sink in cano, O or A, Or give up Cicero to C or K.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

'T is true, on words is still our whole debate, Disputes of me or te, of aut or at,

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

While tow'ring o'er your alphabet, like Saul, Stands our Digamma, and o'ertops them all.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Roman and Greek grammarians! know your better; Author of something yet more great than letter;

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain, Critics like me shall make it prose again.

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Popebot @popebot.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains.

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