A
DIALOGUE
CONSISTING CHIEFLY OF
SOLILOQUIES.
———Nudos incurris in enſes.
REVIEWER.
WHERE, friend, in the name of nonſenſe, did you rake all this rubbiſh together?
PUBLISHER.
Alas, poor Semele! the Thunderer’s blaze was too much for thee!—Mercy, good Sir: have ſome conſideration of theſe poor ſhattered nerves. Relax the dignified ſeverity of that ſtern brow a few folds: and let thoſe oracular lips forbear to pout ſuch cutting contempt. I feel every bud of hope in my boſom nipped by the froſt of diſdain.—But, between friends, ſuppoſe you unmaſk for a moment, and deſcend from your monthly ſtilts, that we may have a little confidential chat. We bookſellers and you critics are, you know, to one
Vol. I.
a
another
