...appear, And strains fromhard-bound brains eight linesayear: He who, still wanting, though he lives s her olive spring, And scatters blessings from her...E'en I more sweetly pass my careless days, 1'leased hut blunders round about a meaning ; And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but...

...appear, And strains from hard-hound hrains eight lines a year: He who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...who, now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, hut hlunders round ahout a meaning ; And he, whose fostian's so suhlimely had, It is not poetry, hut...

...determine if he had any. Perhaps he realizes the picture drawn by Pope, in one of his biting couplets : " And he, who, now to sense now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning." The critic has laboured hard, but he has certainly done far more harm to the character of the Britith...

...secured him oblivion, but for humorous stories happily introduced, and quaintly told. " His matter, now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not — but blunders round about a meaning." Among the class of minor politicians who CHAP. opposed reform on the present, and on the former ^Y->J...

...appear. And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; He, who still wanting, though he lives T prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bade translate*, And own'd that nine such Poets made a...

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a year; He who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bade translate, And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate....

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines ayear; He, who, still wanting, though he lives ar and dying sound prose run mad : AH these, my modest satire bad translate, And own'd that nine such poets made a Täte....

...who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left : ] z } } i is not poetry, but prose run mad : All these, my modest satire bad translate, And own'd that nine...

...appear, And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; ie, who, still wanting, though he lives ire Of squadron'd angels hear his carol sung. A virgin...his mother, but his sire Tbe power of the Most Hi \Ieans not, but blunders round about a meaning: And he, whose fustian's su sublimely bad, ,t is not...

...pastorals renown, Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown ;n He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing...fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad ; All these my modest satire bade translate, And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate....