The Press

                                     (“The Press is too much with us.” Austin Dobson.)

O, fie on you, Austin Dobson,

     For writing of such stuff,

That “the Press is too much with us,”

     “Tisn’t with us half enough.

How would we know of the bargains,

     Say, in books that you have writ,

If we didn’t scan the papers

     And be daily told of it?

What’s the matter, Austin Dobson

     Both with you and with the Press?

Won’t they print your clever verses,

     What’s the cause of your distress?

Nay, I think you are in error,

     ‘Tisn’t with us half enough;

Were it scarcer, tell us, Austin,

     What could we do with our stuff?

March 10, ‘09

Henry Austin Dobson (18 January 1840 – 2 September 1921), commonlyAustin Dob son, was an English poet and essayist.

A Pleasant Invective against Printing

"Flee from the Prees, and dwelle in sothfastnesse."

--Chaucer, "Balade de Bon Conseil"

The Press is too much with us, small and great:

We are undone of chatter and on dit,

Report, retort, rejoinder, repartee,

Mole-hill and mare's nest, fiction up-to-date,

Babble of booklets, bicker of debate,

Aspect of A., and attitude of B.--

A waste of words that drive us like a sea,

Mere derelict of Ourselves, and helpless freight!

"O for a lodge in some vast wilderness!"

Some region unapproachable of Print,

Where never cablegram could gain access,

And telephones were not, nor any hint

Of tidings new or old, but Man might pipe

His soul to Nature,--careless of the Type! 

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