The cruel fight, the constant love, the art
Of vile magicians, thrill’d his inmost heart:
An early Quixote, dreaming dreadful sights
Of warring dragons, and victorious knights—
In every dream some beauteous Princess shone,
The pride of thousands, and the prize of one. 30
Not yet he read, nor, reading, would approve
The Novel’s hero, or its ladies’ love.
He would Sophia for a wanton take,
Jones for a wicked, nay a vulgar rake.