In the pure silver of Pope’s ringing line;
Or where the pulse of man beats loud and strong
In the frank flow of Dryden’s lusty song?
Let School-Miss Alfred vent her chaste delight
On “darling little rooms so warm and bright!”[124]
Chaunt, “I’m a-weary,” in infectious strain,
And catch her “Blue fly singing i’ the pane,”
Tho’ praised by Critics, tho’ adored by Blues,
Tho’ Peel with pudding plump the Puling Muse,
Tho’ Theban taste the Saxon’s purse controuls,