Ambrose Philips

Thomas Cooke, in Battle of the Poets (1725) 19.

As ready for the War the Chiefs appear,
All, of a sudden, are unnerv'd with Fear.
PHILIPS approach'd high in a Martial Carr,
Without Allies, and was himself a War.
His Helm was made with more than Human Care,
And Pindar, with his Theban Lyre, was there.
Upon his Shield the deathless Mantuan stands,
And, bowing, gives his Pipe to British Hands.
There stood Orestes, in his wild Despair;
There Gloucester's Duke; and Gwendolen the Fair.
Thus arm'd, upon a thousand Wits he trod;
He drives along, and seems of Verse the God.
So great the Terror few had strength to run,
And all, who could, the certain Danger shun.
TICKELL he stop'd, swift-flying o'er the Field,
And strip'd him of the Arms he could not wield.
Addison's Helm among his Arms he spy'd,
And thus remorseless to th' imposter cry'd.
Here ends thy Kingdom, and the Date of Fame;
Robb'd of thy borrow'd Pride, no more a Name;
Thus by my Hands shalt thou unpity'd go.
Then plung'd him headlong in the Stream below.