Our books in growing ranks so numerous be, That scarce one cuttle-fish swims i' the sea. Sturdier they rise from printing-press's blows: The more 'tis press'd, this @3Hydra@1 bulkier grows. Can aconite or plant else known to men Expel this cacoethes of the pen? Ind only on our sorrows taking pity Provides an antidote, dear Dr. @3Wittie@1. Tobacco, useful poison, Ind bestows, Which more than hellebore extirpates our woes, See the rank clouds above the pages steam, Than which learn'd noses nought more luscious deem. Methinks this herb my choicest gift will prove; From this thy doctor wafts his clouds above. Ah, what, my timid verse, mayst thou avail? He'll plot thy ruin, and thy loss bewail. Hide 'neath this book -- a sacred refuge given -- Which neither flame shall blast nor wrath of Heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA (1) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VERSES TO MR. C by ALEXANDER POPE AUTHOR TO HIS CHILD by FRANCES AIRTH EPITAPH ON A CAT by JOACHIM DU BELLAY HIS NAME WAS KEKO by THEODORE BRIDGMAN EPITAPH ON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SUSAN, COUNTESS OF MONTGOMERY by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |