se I've nothing to say, Rememb'ring in all kinds of difficult cases, To make out my meaning by shrugs and grimaces, Thus a man without reading may give an opinion, And snatch for an hour dilletanti dominion, From what sources great critics may judge I can't tell But I always find mine are produc'd at the well, When my breakfast eats good and the waters agree Capel Loft's sugar-candy's not sweeter than me, This morning I dazzled the minds of the crowd, By pronouncing Lord Byron "a poet" aloud, Of Strangford and Moore then condemned the sweet flummery, Talk'd of Southey the chaste, and the matchless Montgomery, Call'd Campbell the elegant, Wordsworth the wild And the great Walter Scott Inspiration's own child; Then prais'd the sweet bard tho' unknown be his name, Who gave Talavera's dread battles to fame, Thus 'mongst reading-room gents I set up for a judge, And an eulogist too (when the waters will budge) But if on my stomach they happen to rest, With such critical spleen is my humour opprest, Whether minister
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