~94~~
Bowen, Hennicker, Webbe, were invited to dinner:
The theologist Buxton, and Petit, were seen,
And philosopher Jenyns, and Donald Maclean;
Bulteel too, and Dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!)
That, though many were ask'd, very few of them came.
As for Coleridge, he "knew not what right Phobus had,
d--n me, To set up for a judge in a christian academy;
And he'd not condescend to submit his Latinity,
Nor his verses, nor Greek, to a heathen divinity.
For his part, he should think his advice an affront,
Full as bad as the libels of Chapman and Blunt.
He'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good,
But he'd not go and taste it--be d--d if he would."
Dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile,
And Maclean was engaged to the duke of Argyll;
In a deep fit of lethargy Petit had sunk,
And theologist Buxton with _Bishop_ was drunk;
Bulteel too, and Dykes, much against their own will,
Had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill;
And philosopher Jenyns was bent on his knees,
To electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas.
But the rest all accepted the god's invitation,
And made haste to prepare for this jollification.
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