Lewis Theobald

Alexander Pope, in The Dunciad (1728); Works, ed. Warton (1796-97) 5:342-43.

In each she marks her image full exprest,
But chief, in Tibbald's monster-breeding breast;
Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league ingage,
And earth, and heav'n, and hell her battles wage.

She ey'd the Bard, where supperless he sate,
And pin'd, unconscious of his rising fate;
Studious he sate, with all his books around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound!
Plung'd for his sense, but found not bottom there;
Then writ, and flounder'd on, in mere despair.
He roll'd his eyes that witness'd huge dismay,
Where yet unpawn'd, much learned lumber lay:
Volumes, whose size the space exactly fill'd,
Or which fond authors were so good to gild,
Or where, by sculpture made for ever known,
The page admires new beauties, not its own.
Here swells the shelf with Ogilby the great:
There, stampt with arms, Newcastle shines compleat:
Here all the suff'ring brotherhood retire,
And 'scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire;
A Gothic Vatican! of Greece and Rome
Well purg'd, and worthy Withers, Quarles, and Blome.