"Various rude Arts the untaught Ancients knew / To fix Ideas e'er they fled away, / And Images of Thought to Sight convey. / Brass, Wax, or Wood the Characters retain'd, / Some liv'd on Slates, and some the Canvas stain'd; / Some trac'd in Iv'ry, or engrav'd on Stone, / Or sunk in Clay, e're Biblo's Reed was known."
— Bowden, Samuel (fl. 1733-1761)
And chase this wintry Torpor from your Mind.
Tempests and Storms may break another's Rest,
Your Silence drives all Quiet from my Breast.
Like a Sea-calm, this still, this dead Serene
Portends more Danger than a Hurricane.
The Caves and Rocks, more civil to my Cry,
Will in fond Echos to my Plaints reply.
The Groves in gentle Whispers sigh again,
And babbling Fountains murmur to my Pain:
But you more deaf than Caverns, Rocks, or Trees,
With no kind Answer give a Lover Ease.
In vain you plead you have no Skill to write,
Let Love inspire, and Nature will indite,
E'er th'Art of Writing to Perfection grew,
Various rude Arts the untaught Ancients knew
To fix Ideas e'er they fled away,
And Images of Thought to Sight convey.
Brass, Wax, or Wood the Characters retain'd,
Some liv'd on Slates, and some the Canvas stain'd;
Some trac'd in Iv'ry, or engrav'd on Stone,
Or sunk in Clay, e're Biblo's Reed was known;
E're sacred Pergamus acquir'd a Name,
Or humble Charta gave to Egypt Fame.
The magic Tongues, here clad in mystic Shapes,
In Symbols lurkt of Fishes, Birds and Apes.
When Philomela cou'd not speak her Fate,
The silken Robes exprest her tragic State.