nk the Muse on't
were scarcely wean'd_--Very likely; and here I warrant he thinks his
Witty Criticism, as safely hous'd now as a Thief in a Mill, as the old
Saw has it, did not his plaguee want of Memory now and then contrive to
disgrace him; or if you turn to the thirty fourth page of his Lampoon,
as Mr _Vanbrooke_ calls it, after he has been comparing a fine young
Lady to a _Setting-bitch-teacher.

Lower yet--down, down_, and after he has been bringing forth a Litter
of Mr. _Congreeves_ Epithetes, as he calls them, _soothing softness,
sinking Ease, wafting Air, thrilling Fears, and incessant scalding Rain_
[Footnote: Collier, p. 34.], all Crude, just as he did mine before,
without any connexion of sense to 'em: He tells ye more plain in troth
than wittily, that _they make the Poem look like a Bitch overstock'd
with Puppies, and suck the sense almost to Skin and Bone_. [Footnote:
Ibid, --.] For a Child to suck the Mother till the Blood follows,
I think is not unreasonable, but for a Litter of Epithetes to suck
the sense of a Poem to the Skin and Bone, is such Fustian stuff that
nothing but a Creature, only fit for a Sucking-bottle, could be
Author of--And now I think if he has given me any _Crocus Metallorum_,
I am even with him with a Dose of _Jollop_, and can whisk too from one
Play to another indifferently well, tho not so fast as he; for when I
perus'd him first, I could compare him to nothing but an Humble Bee
in a Meadow, Buz upon this Daizy, Hum upon that Clover, then upon that
Butter-flower--sucking of Honey, as he is of Sense--or as if upon the
hunt for knowledge, he could fly from hence to the Colledge at _Downy_,
then to St. _Peter_'s at _Rome_, then to _Mahomet_ at _Mecha_, then to
the Inquisition at _Goa_--And then buz home again to his own dormitory
in _Shooe-lane_: And so much for his injustice, now to his errour in
Criticism again, and to proceed in defence of _Don Quixot_.

_Mary_ the Buxom, he says now swears faster 'tis false, and I deny it,
she is so far from swearing fast, that she does not (rude as her
character is) swear at all, unless the poor interjection I'cod--by his
Authority can be made an Oath; and then if you'll peruse him on, here is
a whole page and half upon this hint, That the Ladies must have left
their Wits and Modesties behind them that came, and lik'd her Words or
Actions; and that her Nastiness, and dirty Conversation, is a Midnight
Cart, or a Dunghil, instead of an Ornamental S