Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,  I see thee cast a wishful look,  Where reputations won and lost are  In famous row called Paternoster.  Incensed to find your precious olio  Buried in unexplored port-folio,  You scorn the prudent lock and key,  And pant well bound and gilt to see  Your Volume in the window set  Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.             Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn  Whence never Book can back return:  And when you find, condemned, despised,  Neglected, blamed, and criticised,  Abuse from All who read you fall,  (If haply you be read at all  Sorely will you your folly sigh at,  And wish for me, and home, and quiet.