Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/214

86 The sacred altar should be clean. O had I Shadwell's second bays, Or, Tate, thy pert and humble lays! (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow I never miss'd your works till now,) I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, That only way you please the Nine: But since I chance to want these two, I'll make the songs of Durfey do.

Rent from the corps, on yonder pin, I hang the scales that brac'd it in; I hang my studious morning gown, And write my own inscription down.

'This trophy from the Python won, This robe, in which the deed was done, These, Parnell, glorying in the feat, Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. Here Ignorance and Hunger found Large realms of wit to ravage round; Here Ignorance and Hunger fell; Two foes in one I sent to hell. Ye poets, who my labours see, Come share the triumph all with me! Ye critics, born to vex the Muse, Go mourn the grand ally you lose!'