Rev. Thomas Dudley Fosbroke

James Harley, in The Press, or Literary Chit-Chat. A Satire (1822) 65-66 &n.

'Tis doubtless sweet to cull the page antique,
And taste of Roman pleasures and of Greek;
There also may be joy in letters black,
Yet, God preserve me from that noisy pack
Who after such delights for ever soar,
(A pack not nameless nor unsung before,)
A band not yet extinct whilst Dibdin writes,
Or Fosbrooke plies his rusty quill at nights—*
Dibdin the book-worm, who in search of spoil,
Not unto British realms confines his toil;
Fosbrooke the earthworm, who each ruin haunts,
And prates of nunnish robes and monkish chaunts.

Scott, too, a name we've talked of, hath an itch
To shew his erudition 'bout a witch,
Sagely to reason on an earthern mound,
Or border-ballad of uncouthest sound.
Preserve, oh! Providence, such prosing prigs
From ghastly fears, or elfin's midnight twigs;
Thus they may live each nursury to alarm,
And make each ruin with gaunt spectres swarm.

How can this thinking and enlighten'd age,
Treat with forbearance each black-letter page?

* I have little doubt that Mr. F.'s good sense will prevent his being offended at the epithet I have bestowed upon him. His British Monachism is an erudite work, and has annexed to it some very pleasing productions of the author's name, deserving of a more general circulation than they are likely to obtain as a portion of an expensive folio.