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.