The man to genuine Burgundy bred up,
Soon starts the dam of Methuen in his cup.

[Footnote A: Alluding to the Gothic heaven, Woden's hall; where the
happy are for ever employed in drinking beer, mum, and other
comfortable liquors out of the skulls of those whom they had
slain in battle.]

[Footnote B: Pope Gregory the VIth, distinguished by the name of St.
Gregory; whose pious zeal, in the cause of barbarous ignorance
and priestly tyranny, exerted itself in demolishing, to the
utmost of his power, all the remains of heathen genius.]

Those sovereign masters of the Muses skill
Are the true patterns of good writing still, 55
Their ore was rich and seven times purg'd of lead;
Their art seem'd nature, 'twas so finely hid.
Tho' born with all the powers of writing well,
What pains it cost they did not blush to tell.
Their ease (my Lords!) ne'er lowng'd for want of fire,
Nor did their rage thro' affectation tire. 61
Free from all tawdry and imposing glare
They trusted to their native grace of air.
Rapt'rous and wild the trembling soul they seize, }
Or sly coy beauties steal it by degrees; } 65
The more you view them still the more they please. }

Yet there are thousands of scholastic merit
Who worm their sense out but ne'er taste their spirit.
Witness each pedant under Bentley bred;