Cyder is pleasant cool tipple, but far too thin a potation to furnish out any poem beyond the dimension of a sonnet, and Philips's cyder dissolved a portion of lead in the process of pressing, and might bring on the Devonshire cholic. Because Paradise was lost by an apple, Philips, writing about apples, thought he was writing another Paradise Lost. Philips was one of the cockney sparrows that exhibited their poetic parts to Bentley. Mallet was another. Poor creatures! — "At tune homo audes occidere Caium Marium?"