In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

167 mArTIn mcgowAn Poetics Terence, this is stupid stuff— excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled To consecrate the flicker, not the flame. The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ, A gang of labourers on the piled wet timber Babble, babble; our old england may go down in babble at last. do you remember Mr. Goodbeare, the carpenter, Bent on writing lilies from the acorn? I too dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath. I told you it was easy! . . . Words are fools. (Boots—boots—boots—boots, moving up an’ down again!) And as things have been they remain. My little horse must think it queer. ...

Share