by friar's lanthern led,
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set;
When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end.
Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend;
And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength:
And, crop-full, out of door he flings
Ere the first cock his Matins rings.

Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of Nursery Tales and
prattling Lullabies; and, if he will studiously cultivate his talent, he
need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr NEWBERY's shop
window: unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to proscribe those
empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the World has been too
long abused.

From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another species of
_hum_.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men;
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold:
With _store of Ladies_, whose bright eyes
_Rain influence_, and judge the Prize
Of Wit or Arms; while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.

To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of Wit is indeed
with the Poets a legitimate species of humming: but would not, we may
ask, the _rain_ from these Ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their
lustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of _influence_; which,
instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate?

Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep out
of the way of these "Knights and Barons bold": for, if he has nothing but
his Wit to trust to, we will venture to predict that, without a large
share of most undue influence, he must be content to see the Prize
adjudged to his competitors.

Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said.

The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the Actors
and Musicians: though his head is still running upon ORPHEUS and EURYDICE
and PLUTO, and other sombre personages; who are ever thrusting themselves
in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion of
mirth and gaiety.

He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of festive
pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, that
he closes with a couplet which would not have disgraced a STER