What Greece, when learning flourished, only knew,
Athenian judges, you this day renew.
Here, too, are annual rites to Pallas done,
And here poetic prizes lost or won.
Methinks I see you, crowned with olives, sit,
And strike a sacred horror from the pit.
}
A day of doom is this of your decree, }
Where even the best are but by mercy free; }
A day, which none but Jonson durst have wished to see. }