ccompanied by his own translations. These folio poems,
uniformly bound, except that the arms of his patrons, or rather his
purchasers, richly gilt, emblazon the black morocco, may still be
found. These presentation-copies were sent round to the chiefs of the
party, with a mendicant's petition, of which some still exist. To have
a clear conception of the _present views_ of some politicians, it is
necessary to read their history backwards. In 1702, when Settle
published "Successio," he must have been a Whig. In 1685 he was a
Tory, commemorating, by a heroic poem, the coronation of James II.,
and writing periodically against the Whigs. In 1680 he had left the
Tories for the Whigs, and conducted the whole management of burning
the Pope, then a very solemn national ceremony.[248] A Whig, a
pope-burner, and a Codrus, afforded a full draught of inspiration to
the nascent genius of our youthful satirist.

Settle, in his latter state of wretchedness, had one standard _elegy_
and _epithalamium_ printed off with _blanks_. By the ingenious
contrivance of inserting the name of any considerable person who died
or was married, no one who had gone out of the world or was entering
into it but was equally welcome to this dinnerless livery-man of the
draggled-tailed Muses. I have elsewhere noticed his last exit from
this state of poetry and of pauperism, when, leaping into a green
dragon which his own creative genius had invented, in a theatrical
booth, Codrus, in hissing flames and terrifying-morocco folds,
discovered "the fate of talents misapplied!"

TO THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED "SUCCESSIO."

Begone, ye critics, and restrain your spite;
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write.
The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on.[249]
What though no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew;
Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead,
A swarm of drones that buzz'd about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks stand round you, and admire.
Wit past through thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a different name;[250]
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou mayst rise, and in thy daring flight
(Though ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height:
So, forced from engines, lead itself can fly,
And pond'rous slugs move