Classic Poem

In the first days of this Review,
When Griffith, ay, and Madam, too,
From the old Dunciad in the Row
Instructed folk how they should go,
'Tis rumoured that they kept confined
And cabined in some room behind
A queer slow-witted, stuttering rogue,
An usher, with an Irish brogue,
Who, working then for Grub-Street pay,
Yet lived to write one perfect play
That still is played; to tell a tale
Still, as the book-stalls show, on sale;
And write, besides, some verse of note
That still old-fashioned persons quote.

Full well, I wot, Sir, your domain
No such back-parlour could contain;
Sure, too, am I you would not choose
The Dunciad for your sign to use;
But still I trust that you may light
Upon some genius who will write
Plain-spoken things, and unperplext,
That we may read this year and next,
Though they should fail to last as long
As G OLDSMITH'S play and tale and song!