H. Cholmondeley-Pennell, Puck on Pegasus
“ Oh, Martin! Oh, my Tupper! thus exclaims A groveling Age, grown envious of thy fames,— Thy boundless sonnets, and Proverbial bays: Blest Silence! lovéd Silence! thou art Heavn!— (See my remarks in "Sonnet 47") — Yet will I breathe my pleasant Poems forth Innumerable. Hundreds more—ay tens Of thousands! Sweet etherial rhymes, I hold ye here! and hug ye—all the lot;— A monstrous pile of quintessential rot!! DERBY DAY H! ”
