The victorious St. Michael of Guido, treads on the body of his antagonist, with all the precision of a dancing-master. Webb’s Inquiry, &c. Th’ impatient weapon whizzes on the wing; Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quiv’ring string, &c. Pope. There is language in her eye, her cheek, her lip: Nay, her foot speaks—— Shakespear. This, my dear countryman! is the only passage of thine, where posterity will find the orator forgot the philosopher. N. of Tr. THE END. |