I read, withdrew the curse—and tore the epic up.

THE EDITION DE LOOKS

How very close to truth these bookish men

Can be when in their catalogues they pen

The words descriptive of the wares they hold

To tempt the book-man with his purse of gold!

For instance, they have Dryden—splendid set—

Which some poor wight would part with wealth to get.

’Tis richly bound, its edges gilded—but—

Hard fate—as Dryden well deserves—uncut!

For who these days would think to buy the screed

Of dull old dusty Dryden just to read?

In faith if his editions had been kept

Amongst the rarities he’d ne’er have crept!

And then those pompous, overwhelming tomes

You find so oft in overwhelming homes,

No substance on a Whatman surface placed,

In polished leather and in tooling cased,

The gilded edges dazzling to the eye

And flaunting all their charms so wantonly.

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