I.

With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw.


II

See lewdness and theology combin'd,--
A cynic and a sycophantic mind;
A fancy shar'd party per pale between
Death's heads and skeletons and Aretine!--
Not his peculiar defect or crime,
But the true current mintage of the time.
Such were the establish'd signs and tokens given
To mark a loyal churchman, sound and even,
Free from papistic and fanatic leaven.


The wit of Donne, the wit of Butler, the wit of Pope, the wit of
Congreve, the wit of Sheridan--how many disparate things are here
expressed by one and the same word, Wit!--Wonder-exciting vigour,
intenseness and peculiarity of thought, using at will the almost
boundless stores of a capacious memory, and exercised on subjects, where
we have no right to expect it--this is the wit of Donne! The four others
I am just in the mood to describe and inter-distinguish;--what a pity
that the marginal space will not let me!