They were so tender and so easy mov'd,
Heav'ns! how the Grecian ladies must have lov'd!
For all the fine sensations still have dwelt, 231
Perhaps, where one was exquisitely felt.
Thus he who heavenly Maro truly feels
Stands fix'd on Raphael, and at Handel thrills.
The grosser senses too, the taste, the smell, } 235
Are likely truest where the fine prevail: }
Who doubts that Horace must have cater'd well? }
Friend, I'm a shrewd observer, and will guess
What books you doat on from your fav'rite mess,
Brown and L'Estrange will surely charm whome'er
The frothy pertness strikes of weak small-beer.
Who steeps the calf's fat loin in greasy sauce
Will hardly loathe the praise that bastes an ass.
Who riots on Scotcht Collops scorns not any
Insipid, fulsome, trashy miscellany; 245
And who devours whate'er the cook can dish up,
Will for a classic consecrate each[A] bishop.
[Footnote A: See Felton's Classics.]
But I am sick of pen and ink; and you
Will find this letter long enough.
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