Versed by Experience in the subtle Art,
The mystries of a Title I impart:
Teach the young Author how to please the Town,
And make the heavy drug of Rhime go down.
Since Curl, immortal, never dying name!
A Double Pica in the Book of Fame,
By various arts did various Dunces prop,
And tickled every fancy to his Shop:
Who can like Pottinger ensure a Book?
Who judges with the solid taste of Cooke?
Villians exalted in the midway Sky,
Shall live again to drain your Purses dry:
Nor yet unrivalled they: see Baldwin comes,
Rich in Inventions, Patents, Cuts and hums:
The honorable Boswell writes, 'tis true,
What else can Paoli's supporter do.
The trading Wits endeadvor to attain,
Like Booksellers, the Worlds first Idol Gain:
For this they puff the heavy Goldsmiths Line.
And hail his Sentiment tho' trite, divine;
For this, the patriotic bard complains,
And Bingley binds poor Liberty in Chains:
For this was every reader's faith deceiv'd,
And Edmunds swore what nobody believ'd:
For this the Wits in close Disguises fight;
For this the varying Politicians write:
For this each Month new Magazines are sold,
With Dullness fill'd and transcripts of the Old.
The Town and Country stuck a lucky hit,
Was novel, sentimental, full of Wit:
Aping her Walk the same success to find,
The Court and City hobbles far behind:
Sons of Apollo learn; Merit's no more,
Than a good Fronispiece to grace her door.
The Author who invents a title well,
Will always find his cover'd Dullness sell;
Flexney and every Bookseller will buy,
Bound in neat Calf, the Work will never die.
July 22, 1770