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Tarry a little, my good friend. I want only to furnish myself
at this Booksellers shop, with a Rhyming dictionary, and to rob younder
Crow of a quill or two, and then I will attend you on your journey to the
paradise of poets. I will contribute my endeavours to unsphere the
soul of VIDA, and compell the presence of the jest-provoking,
wit-dissecting, Eight-syllable'd Thalia. Alas! my friend, these are
only my wishes. Neither my leisure nor abilities will suffer me to prosecute
my Undertaking. To write indeed like Peter Pindar would not, I believe
be very difficult, but were I to undertake the prise enterprise I should
scorn to talk in such barbarous diallect, but should endeavour to
emulate the polished elegance and classical purity of Pope and
Vida. Writers whose celebrated performances I should wish attentively to
read before I wrote a line, and, if possible, by deep and frequent
meditation, to imbibe the spirit by which they were animated
You do not seem to be fully aware of the difficulty of the task, and yet
I must, at the same time, acknowledge that the Genius of my friend
appears to be exquisitely and peculiarly adapted to performances of this
kind. There is, in the little specimens with which you have furnishe
me, a surprising copiousness of imagery. You seem to have a thousand
allusions and comparisons always at hand. But, tell me, do not you
think that in proportion to the insignificance or meaness of the
subject, on those occasions, ought always to be ^{‸ the} studied energy and
elaborate beauty of the language and versification? You, write my
friend, with too much facility; and are careless of the nicer and
minuter quallities of Style and cadence, which must be owned to be
essential to perfection, and of which, as they are, for the most part, [gap]


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attainable by labour and attention, the omission may justly be accounted
inexcusable. Ah! What temerity is this? What an adventurous critic
have I become? An Unsurper of the chair of Aristarchus? It is but
just that I should afford you an opportunity for retaliation. Let
me then consider — what may be said by way of Introduction to
an Heroi-comic poem upon LOO? "Muses and Ministers of Rhyme
befriend me!"

	Attend! Ye sisters of celestial birth!
	Forsake your starry homes and post to earth
	With laughter under each expanded Wing;
	Of harmony and wit untwine the string.
	Be near while I, than Hercules more strong,
	Unloose the fettered hands of drooping song;
	Retread the tract that Homer trod before
	And spread the muses praise from shore to shore.
	For, lo! the phrenzy of my soul constrains
	On Fancy's sparkling neck to throw the reins
	In numbers to imbalm a lofty theme
	And pour, of various verse, the copious stream,
	And (to cut short my tale) in Cantos two,
	To sound the triumphs of heroic LOO.
	Ye powers of heroic song descend
	Each in his car of light, effectual aid to lend!
	Your poet shall uplift the voice of praise
	To time-destroying LOO, in time-surviving lays
	For oft I stand amidst the sportive crew
	That give to Loo their days, their nights to Loo
	Oft, in my dreams, I watch the dealers hand
	And throw down in despair, or bravely Stand
	――
	I oft, approaching, view the nect'rous treat
	And gather consolation from defeat.
	At long depending rows, attentive gape,
	Of various dyes and equi-sided shape,
	Behold, with joy depicted in my face
	Of trumps the royal pair, or knave or Ace;
	At Sight of trumpless hand, proclaim a truce
	Or scoul, with rolling eyes, on worthless duce
	At ace succeeding ace astonished gaze
	Or of collected spoils a trophy raise.
	Or see around, the mighty ruin strewed
	And, wait, in speechless terror to be looed

	Lo! to my sight the polished board appears
	That, decently disposed, has borne for years,
	Unstunned, the rage of combat, and between
	Yet, stainless has escaped the topers spleen,
	Has seen the labour'ing mind elude distress
	At care-dispelling, thought-convoking chess
	Has seen the foe his scattered forces bring
	And meditate the fall of helpless king.
	With high exploits to decorate the scene
	Prepare, and lead in chains the captive queen,
	(Her fall her friends lament, her foes deride
	In striving to defend her lord she died)
	Or spite of martial strength, in cautious spite,
	Intangles in his net the active Knight,
	Ah! naught, by numbers and by skill assailed,
	The mitre'd brow or ample stride availed
	To rescue from his fate the cloistered sage
	Who dared in warlike combats to engage.
	Or see the rook, from his asylum, drawn
	To fight and fade before a powerless pawn.
	――
	The polished board has viewed a different scene
	A witness to amusing draughts has been
	Has laughed to see dexterity enthrall
	Brute force. Thrones sink and ‸ crowns topple legions fall
	Before him and the boaster cease to sound
	His triumphs prosprate on th'ensanguined ground.
	Has seen gigantic war whole armies crush
	And nations to the dread encounter rush,
	Seen Subjects “wade through slaughter to a throne"
	And vanquish hosts unaided and alone.

What think you, my friend, of this introduction. Tell me whether you
approve it. I would delineate the whole plan of the poem had I
formed it. I have opposite pursuits and inclinations, and must
resign the task of celebrating this delightful!!! game to some
time-provided inclination-aided bard.