Oh! ye, who make the fortunes of all books!

Benign Ceruleans of the second sex!

Who advertise new poems by your looks,

Your "Imprimatur" will ye not annex?

What! must I go to the oblivious cooks,[EO]Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian wrecks?

Ah! must I then the only minstrel be,

Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea![263]