The Life of Zoilus.
thy Accusations; make the Ghosts of the dead groan in their Tombs for their violated Fame. But why do I spend Time in needless Advice, which may be better us'd in Encouragement? Let thy Eyes delight themselves with the future Recompence which I have reserv'd for thy Merit." Thus spoke the Monster, and shriek'd the Name of Zoilus: The Shades who were to bear the same Name after him became obedient, and the Mouth of the Cave was fill'd with strange supercilious Countenances, which all crowded to make their Appearance. These began to march before him with an Imitation of his Mien and Manners: Some crown'd with wild Sorrel, others having Leaves of dead Bays mingl'd amongst it; while the Monster still describ'd them as he pass'd, and touch'd each with a livid Track of malignant Light that shot from her Eye, to point where she meant the Description. "They (says she) in the Chaplets of wild Sorrel, are my Writers of Prose, who erect Scandal into Criticism: They who wear the wither'd Bay with it, are such who write Poems, which are professedly to answer all Rules, and be left for Patterns to Men of Genius. These that follow shall attack others, because they are excell'd by them. The next Rank shall make an Author's being read a sufficient Ground of Opposition. Here march my Grammarians skill'd to torture Words; there my Sons of Sophistry, ever ready to wrest a Meaning. Observe how faint the foremost of the Procession appear; and"how
