On her ministers great and small;
But most she regarded with tenderness
Her darling shrine, the Minerva Press,
In the street of Leadenhall.

This was her sacred haunt, and here
Her name was most adored,
Her chosen here officiated.
And hence her oracles emanated,
And breathed the Goddess in every word.

She pass'd from the east to the west, and paused
In New Burlington-street awhile,
To inspire a few puffs for Colburn and Co.
And indite some dozen novels or so
In the fashionable style.

* * * * *

Then turning her own Magazine to inspect,
She was rather at fault, as of late
The colour and series both were new;
But the Goddess, with discernment true,
Detected it by the weight.

She cross'd the Channel next, and peep'd
At Dublin; but the zeal
Of the liberty boys soon put her to flight.
And she dropp'd her mantle in her fright,
Which fell on Orator Shiel.