Page:The castle of Indolence - an allegorical poem - Written in imitation of Spenser (IA castleofindolenc00thomiala).pdf/35

 This Globe pourtray'd the Race of learned Men, Still at their Books, and turning o'er the Page, Backwards and forwards: oft they snatch the Pen, As if inspir'd, and in a Thespian Rage; Then write, and blot, as would your Ruth engage. Why, Authors, all this Scrawl and Scribbling sore? To lose the present, gain the future Age, Praised to be when you can hear no more,

Then would a splendid City rise to View, With Carts, and Cars, and Coaches roaring all: Wide-pour'd abroad, behold the prowling Crew; See! how they dash along from Wall to Wall; At every Door, hark! how they thundering call. Good Lord! what can this eager Rout excite? Why? Each on Each to prey, by Guile or Gall; With Flattery These, with Slander Those to blight,