I LONG had rack'd my brains to find
A likeness to the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite;
Till reading, I forgot what day on,
A chapter out of Took's Pantheon;
I think with something I met there,
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious,
First please to turn to God Mercurius;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the second, page the tenth:
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay
And now proceed we to our simile.