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An Inventory of the Furniture in Dr. Priestley's Study

A map of every country known,

With not a foot to call his own.

A list of folks that kicked a dust

On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First;

He hopes,-- indeed it is but fair,--

Some day to get a corner there.

A group of all the British kings,

Fair emblem! on a packthread swings.

The Fathers, ranged in goodly row,

A decent, venerable show,

Writ a great while ago, they tell us,

And many an inch o'ertop their fellows.

A Juvenal to hunt for mottos;

And Ovid's tales of nymphs and grottos.

The meek-robed lawyers all in white;

Pure as the lamb,-- at least, to sight.

A shelf of bottles, jar and phial,

By which the rogues he can defy all,--

All filled with lightning keen and genuine, 20 And many a little imp he'll pen you in;

Which, like Le Sage's sprite, let out,

Among the neighbours makes a rout;

Brings down the lightning on their houses,

And kills their geese, and frights their spouses.

A rare thermometer, by which

He settles, to the nicest pitch,

The just degrees of heat, to raise

Sermons, or politics, or plays.

Papers and books, a strange mixed olio,

From shilling touch to pompous folio;

Answer, remark, reply, rejoinder,

Fresh from the mint, all stamped and coined here;

Like new-made glass, set by to cool,

Before it bears the workman's tool.

A blotted proof-sheet, wet from Bowling.

--'How can a man his anger hold in?'--

Forgotten rimes, and college themes,

Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes;--

A mass of heterogeneous matter,

A chaos dark, no land nor water;--

New books, like new-born infants, stand,

Waiting the printer's clothing hand;--

Others, a mottly ragged brood,

Their limbs unfashioned all, and rude,

Like Cadmus' half-formed men appear;

One rears a helm, one lifts a spear,

And feet were lopped and fingers torn

Before their fellow limbs were born;

A leg began to kick and sprawl

Before the head was seen at all,

Which quiet as a mushroom lay

Till crumbling hillocks gave it way;

And all, like controversial writing,

Were born with teeth, and sprung up fighting.

 

'But what is this,' I hear you cry,

'Which saucily provokes my eye?'--

A thing unknown, without a name,

Born of the air and doomed to flame.

a
Written by
Anna Lætitia Barbauld
1743-1825 / English
Lines·Words
57·381
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