Th P P（1 / 3）

the poet&039;s progress

a poe ebryo

thou, nature, partial nature, i arraign;

of thy caprice aternal i p

the peopled fold thy kdly care have found,

the horned bull, trendo, spurns the ground;

the lordly lion has enough and ore,

the forest trebles at his very roar;

thou giv&039;st the ass his hide, the snail his shell,

the puny wasp, victorio, guards his cell

thy ions, kgs defend, ntroul devour,

all th&039; onipotence of rule and power:

foxes and statesn subtle wiles ensure;

the cit and polecat stk, and are secure:

toads with their poin, doctors with their drug,

the priest and hedhog, their robes, are snug:

e&039;en silly won have defensive arts,

their eyes, their tongues—and naless other parts

but o thou cruel stepother and hard,

to thy poor fenceless, naked child, the bard!

a thg unteachable worldly skill,

and half an idiot too, ore helpless still:

no heels to bear hi fro the op&039;ng dun,

no cws to dig, his hated sight to shun:

no horns, but those by ckless hyn worn,

and those, as! not aalthea&039;s horn:

no nerves olfact&039;ry, true to aon&039;s foot,

or gruntg, grub sagacio, evil&039;s root:

the silly sheep that wanders wild astray,

is not ore friendless, is not ore a prey;

vapyre—booksellers dra hi to the heart,

and er—critics cureless veno dart

critics! appll&039;d i venture on the na,

those cut-throat bandits the paths of fa,

bloody dissectors, worse than ten onroes,

he hacks to teach, they angle to expose:

by blockhead&039;s darg to adness stung,

his heart by wanton, caeless alice wrung,

his well-won ways—than life itself ore dear—

by iscreants torn who ne&039;er one sprig t wear;

foil&039;d, bleedg, tortur&039;d th&039; uneal strife,

the hapless poet flounces on thr