A WHIPPING FOR THE WELCH PARSON.
THE PARSON'S TEXT.
EPISTLE TO DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.
[][3]WHEN from his dewy throne, and penſile bowers,
To the green [...]p of earth in genial ſhow'rs,
Prolific Jov [...] [...]ſcends, all germens ſpring,
Blythe are the mountains, and the vallies ſing;
Benignant N [...]e ſmiles, and breathes perfume,
And all around [...] Paradiſe in bloom!
But 'tis on gen [...]l laws the God proceeds,
And, flow'rs firſt cheriſh'd, not forgets the Weeds,
While Sharon's roſes purple o'er the land,
The barren thiſtle feels his foſt'ring hand.
In theſe enlighten'd days, not leſs benign
The Sun of Learning deigns on all to ſhine;
With generous warmth it nouriſhes the root
Of Genius, ripening into claſſic fruit;
In waſteful bounty too its beams are ſpread
O'er the dry region of a dunce's head.
Thoſe ſummer rays that nectar'd grapes produce,
Concoct the hemlock's deleterious juice;
So that bright ſun, prime nouriſher of wit,
Which burns in Burke, in Littelton and Pitt,
[4]Obliquely glances on the leaden pate
Of ev'ry babbling blockhead of the ſtate.
Many and great the evils which have ſlow'd
From b [...]eſſings thus promiſcuouſly beſtow'd!
Oft have we ſeen with grief the bluſhing roſe
By pois'nous neighbours mildew'd as it blows;
As often genius in its vernal bloom,
From envy's blight receives untimely doom.
Among proverbial ſaws by wiſdom ſeal'd,
Which by truth's oracles have been reveal'd,
Be this recorded—for 'tis nature's law—
Fairneſs will foulneſs ever to it draw;
While luſt or envy urge, with equal joy,
The fiend to raviſh beauty, or deſtroy.
[5]To find in this the depth of heaven's deſign,
For metaphyſic heads be le [...]— not mine.
Eſſences, cauſes, ſubſtance, entity,
Be theirs—the beaten track of facts for me.
Let us, my ROSCIUS, freely let us rove
Thro' Flora's gay parterre, or thro' the grove
Where 'midſt her mellow cluſters brooding's ſeen,
Pomona, fruitful mother, Autumn's queen;
Where'er the garden's winding leads our feet,
Proofs of my text on ev'ry plant we meet.
Or ſhou'd we range to city, court, or vale,
No ſpot we find, where new examples fail.
Upon the faireſt fruit banditties throng
[6]Of waſps, who ſing and riot while they wrong,
The downy peach, the bloom-ſuffuſed plumb
Proclaim their wrongs with bleeding mouths tho' dumb;
The deep intrenchment on the luſcious pear
Shews that ſome greedy ſpoiler has been there.
Attentive let us view this pearly roſe
Its virgin beauties to the morn diſcloſe;
Its claſping foilage open'd to the light,
Green coated gnats, almoſt too ſmall for ſight,
Swarm myriads-thick, like motes in ſolar ray,
On embrio buds, and infant leaves to prey.
The world of letters more prepoſt'rous ſtill,
Is but one ſcene of good purſu'd by ill.
[7]Dunces, like owls, can only bear the night,
No crime ſo great with them, as being bright.
Genius and parts to dulneſs give offence,
And blockheads hunt them down in ſelf-defence.
When Junius, bright with all Apollo's rays,
Beams on the town a more than common blaze,
All Grub-Street's up in arms! its reptile breed
Of worms that ſpell, and ſome that almoſt read,
Among the laurels crawl which round him twine,
And all their pow'rs to canker them combine;
But chief th' arch-critic caterpillar—He
So fam'd for pride, long words, and pedantry!
[8]A thouſand feet to move his vaſt weight ſtrive,
A thouſand feet! and half of them alive!
But ſtrive in vain! tho' on each foot the ſpur
Of Envy goads th' unwieldly worm to ſtir;
Too little all to ſpeed him on his way,
Tho' all his hairs have ſtomach for the prey.
A penſion now her golden charms diſplays,
The Siren conquers, a [...] old Grub obeys.
A penſion (and what cannot penſions do?)
Proclaim'd for him who ſhall this foe ſubdue,
Draws the long reptile forth the war to meet,
A taſk too mighty for a thouſand feet!
Onward he crawleth, like a gouty ſnail,
Cowards to fight, or felons to a jail.
"Vengeance is mine—th' Exchequer will repay,—
"And Vengeance ſhall be surfeited to-day—
"My troop of feet ſhall wade thro' Junius' blood,
"And N—triumphant ſtem the crimſon flood."
—So vaunts old Grub—but all his menac'd harm
Ends in the nothing of a Falſe Alarm.
Th' illuſtrious foe he ſlavers with his bile,
But acts, poor worm! the Viper and the File.
[9]When in the brilliant circle of St. James,
Amelia's beauties ſet the court in flames;
The Macaroni butterflies beſet
This flow'r ſo fair, and wou'd without regret
Its whiteneſs blot, but Nature gave theſe things
No pow'r to ſtain, except their mealy wings.
Say then, my ROSCIUS, while Apollo's hand
Around your temples twines a verdant band,
Wou'd you excepted be from Nature's law,
Retain your honours, and no envy draw?
Wou'd you the muſes ſhould your genius claſp,
And ſhine Parnaſſus' pride without a waſp?
Can you, I know you cannot, think it fair,
To be Melpomene's, Thalia's heir;
To revel in the favours of the nine,
And wear the wreathe, which they unite to twine,
[10]From the coy maids be favor'd with a kiſs,
Feel the warm raptures of Pierian bliſs,
And yet forbid that Envy's ſnakes ſhould hiſs;
While on a ſea of glory thus you ſwim,
And pleaſure flows in tides that drown the brim,
Shall not the outcaſt floundering on the beach,
Malign thoſe bleſſings which he cannot reach?
Conſcience, good ROSCIUS,—Nature muſt prevail,
And 'tis the Wretch's privilege to rail.
What is't to you, tho' ſpleen-ſtruck bards prepare,
And for the worth that hurts them ſpread the ſnare?
Erom dungeons dark and deep their vipers call,
Warm at their heart and feed them with their gall;
Give the ſweet creatures, like a foundling nurſe,
Envy's panado, and the pap of curſe,
Till with recruited venom ſtrong they feel,
Then turn them looſe at your mercurial heel,
[11]What is't to you?—You ſtill may laugh and ſing,
Deſpiſe the reptiles, and defy their ſting.
What tho' upon the temple's ſacred walls,
Brothel obſcenity each miſcreant ſcrawls,
Can ſuch blaſpheming documents of ſin,
Pollute the altar's purity within?
While envy's fever burns, the raving bard
What or 'gainſt whom he writes pays no regard,
With venom'd heart he paints the vileſt crime
In vileſt words, and in the vileſt rhime;
Delirious runs about the crowded ſtreets,
And turns to Paſquin's ſtatue all he meets;
His glaſs inverts each object that he ſees,
Tears from their carth-bound roots the firmeſt trees,
The top to baſe converting—with a toſs
St. Paul's it fixes on its golden croſs;
Makes topſy-turvy tumblers upright tread,
Biſhops and Judges walk upon their head:
View'd thro' his glaſs, the eye of heav'n's not bright,
But from the glow-worm's tail ſhould borrow light;
And if we judge by his reverſing rule,
A blockhead Lowth, and Shipley is a fool;
Shakeſpeare wants nature, learned *The reader is deſired to obſerve, that Dr. Samuel Johnſon is not meant here—but Old Pen—as the author would hold himſelf inexcuſable if he was capable of bringing the former into Shakeſpeare's company, ſince the publication of his edition of that immortal bard. Johnſon art,
Brutus and Wilkes a patriotic heart:
[12]A driv'ling ſtammerer, no better, Pitt,
And you to cry freſh oyſters ſcarcely fit—
—At merit thus his giddy cenſures ſly,
Till in the flame of truth, like moths, they die.
Among the various bleſſings mortals know,
A worthy friend we place, and worthleſs foe;
No key a character more truly ſhews,
Than rolls authentic both of friends and foes.
When with a pen that blunts the tooth of time,
And gives to merit everlaſting prime,
Some future Plutarch, great high-prieſt of fame,
In her eternal dome inſcribes thy name,
And decks it with ſuch plentitude of praiſe,
That thy ſhade almoſt bends beneath the bays,
Wou'd'ſt thou he ſhou'd a nettle 'mong them blend,
And damn thy ſame with—Bavius was his friend?
But let not anger, haſty judge, decree
That all he did was done in enmity;
To candour's eye another look it wears,
Ill-blood perhaps, and not ill-will he bears;
[13]His verſe may be the ſtrangury of wit,
And when the rym'ſter's in the burning fit,
'Tis writhing, ſtraining, grunting, groan, and grin,
Daemoniac ſymptoms of the fiend within;
Hard! after all his pangs and throes, to think
No drop of wit was voided in his ink!
Wit or no wit, he'll ſatires write and write,
Altho' he ſpoils this pretty maxim by't,
"It's proper pow'r to hurt each creature feels,
"Bulls aim their horns, and aſſes lift their heels."
A ſimple truth in nature's earlier day,
And man, bird, beaſt, each prov'd it in his way;
[14]Now the reverſe may be as truly ſaid,
Bavius the aſs aſſails US with his head,
The length of ear that ſlouches from his ſkull,
For horns he takes, and butts like baited bull.
Tho' all his fancied terrors ſhou'd be ſped
With tenfold rage at thy devoted head,
Envy's career unheeded let him run—
—A pigmy's breath cannot blow out the ſun—
Among the thouſand gifts on men beſtow'd
Tho' precious all, and worthy of a God,
Supremely gracious is the firm defence
Of CONSCIOUSNESS, aſſign'd to INNOCENCE—
Secure in this impenetrable ſhield,
'Gainſt the world's malice virtue takes the field.
Legions of dev'ls, with Satan at their head,
Or his Lieutenant Mendax in his ſtead,
[15]Their fiery darts may hurl with fruitleſs aim,
Upon her Aegis dies each pointed flame.
How firm this moral ſhield your boſom knew,
When ſlander's quiver was diſcharged at you.
If on a maſter-work of genius bent,
Nature her choiceſt qualities has lent,
'The body form'd of elements ſo wrought
As almoſt give the faculty of thought,
The ſoul with ev'ry touch of ev'ry mind,
Impreſs'd ſo true, HE is himſelf mankind:
When this accompliſh'd legate's ſent to teach
Our hearts to feel, what precept cannot reach,
While more diſtreſs than real ſuff'rings ſhew,
His feeling ſoul ſuſtains from fabled woe,
Should peeviſh Fate, grown envious of his fame,
It's arrows point or at his life or name,
[16]Where ſhall a medicine ſo rare be found,
Of pow'r to ſalve the rankling of the wound,
And ſoothe the heart, to bleed for others prone,
But bleeding now with ſorrows of its own?
Doubly nectareous ſhould the verſe diſtill,
In ſtreams melodious each poetic rill
Shou'd num'rous flow, to give Lethaean reſt
To the perturbed ſpirit in his breaſt;
But guilt can never into peace be ſung,
Tho' with Apollo's hair the lyre were ſtrung—
While innocence not needs a balm like ſin,
And you that conſcious witneſs bear within!
Pleaſant! to ſee how Envy's ſelf-defeat
Turns into favour, what was done in hate!
[17]The nettles which ſhe plants convert to bays,
For Envy's ſlander is "a kind of praiſe."
The Grubſtreet laureate brands each honour'd name
With yours, and thus reviles you into fame.
A fellow-feeling ſpares the dim and dark,
And ſhining merit's the devoted mark,
At which he levels his envenom'd darts;
Shew him but "men of choice and rareſt parts,
"That each particular of duty know,"
That each particular of duty do;
Who pillars to their country daily prove,
And as they beſt deſerve, enjoy its love:
*If the whole poem was not execrably dull, and offenſively dirty, the reader would be deſired to peruſe the wretched lines, together with the injudicious and illiberal notes, in Love in the Suds, on thoſe eminent barriſters John Dunning and James Mansfield, Eſqrs. ‡ By Zoilus, throws the wretch into the ſpleen;
[18]His talent at miſtaking good for evil
In this a fool, in that diſcerns a dev'l.
[19]Forgive the muſe that labours to adorn
Your head with roſes, if ſhe add a thorn,
If with a gentle hand one fault ſhe chide,
One giant fault, which friendſhip cannot hide!
Audacious Garrick! in theſe touchy times,
Where airy dreams 'gainſt majeſty are crimes;
What more than Cromwell's fire cou'd thee impell,
'Gainſt FLEET-DITCH' jus ſtercoreum to rebell?
That ancient kingdom ſtill maintains its ſway,
And now is guarded by a covered way.
Its monarch, ſeated on a throne of mud,
Tribute receives from the polluted flood;
From ſcavengers, his treas'ry lords he takes
Cuſtom of common ſew'rs, and toll of jakes;
[20]His claim to theſe his writings all declare,
And leave to Cloacine a ſecond ſhare.
When this beluted prince politely begs
Your kind acceptance of ſome rotten eggs,
Filth of all ſorts, and to improve their ſweets,
Adds the rich ſweepings of Gomorrah's ſtreets;
Shall thy faſtidious ſpirit dare refuſe,
And both the giver and the gift miſuſe?
His well-bred courteſy diſdainful ſpurn,
And talk of pillory as the return?
[21]—Ungrateful Garrick!—But 'tis time to breathe,
And ere more ink is ſhed, the quill to ſheathe—
Soft ye—the muſe muſt now (her letter penn'd)
Like other ladies with a poſtſcript end;
Like other ladies place the bus'neſs there,
As ſtouteſt ſoldiers fortify the rear.
[22]POSTSCRIPT.
Once when the fire-ey'd regent of the day,
From Sirius ſhot to earth a fervid ray,
[23]The puny fluttering inſects of the ſhade,
Too weak to bear the radiant god diſplay'd,
A joint remonſtrance buzz'd—and to the ſky
Sent their high wills by the Recorder-fly;
"Call forth thick clouds this fervour to abate,
"There's no enduring ſuch tranſcendent heat.—
The pert demand of the remonſtrant ſly,
Drew from the god a ſmile, and this reply—
"—Flutter your hour when to the weſt I'm gone,
"But pray, great Sir, excuſe my ſhining on.—
So thou, bright ſon of Merit and of Fame,
Wh [...]le thy meridian darts its wonted flame,
Scorching the eyes of literary gnats,
Theatric beetles, and be-doctor'd bats,
Let theſe obſcene dim children of the night,
Their malice club to execrate thy light,
Regardleſs of the darklings, be it thine,
With undiminiſh'd luſtre ſtill to ſhine.
FINIS.
COMMENT.
[]The Author not having given us the argument of his Epiſtle, we ſhall begin the buſineſs of his Scholiaſt, by endeavouring to make it out as well as we can, for the convenience of the proſaic reader.
ARGUMENT OF THE TEXT.
As in the phyſical or natural world the ſun cheriſhes alike both weeds and flowers, ſo in the world of letters the ſun of learning ſhines alike, both on the ſcholar and the dunce, on the genius and the blockhead. [From the beginning to line 22.] Many and great are the evils which have fol⯑lowed this promiſcuous diſpenſation of natural and literary bleſſings. [l. 22 to 27.] According to the wiſdom of ages, and the laws of nature, it is a received maxim, that oppoſites attract oppoſites; as FAIRNES; Foulneſs, and ſo forth. The depth of Heaven's deſign in this is left to be ſounded by the metaphyſicians. [l. 27—36.] Facts alone are abided by, and the waſps, worms and flies, that prey upon our peaches and pears, are ſhewn to be a natural evil, and a vile blunder in the ſyſtem of Providence. [l. 36—38.] The world of letters is ſtill more prepoſterous than that of nature; dunces and blockheads conſtantly hunting down men of parts and genius. [l. 58 to 64.] Thus that old Grub and miniſterial penſioner, the author of the Falſe Alarm [hight Dr. Sam. Johnſon] endeavoured to hunt down the well-known JUNIUS. [l. 64—100.] And thus muſt thou, immortal Roſcius, favoured by all the nine, expect to be hunted up and down. Nor canſt thou repine, while revelling in the embraces of the coy maids, at being [2]ſubject to the hiſſing of the ſnakes of Envy. [l. 100—134.] While Envy's fever burns, the raving bard, Bavius, with venomed heart, paints the vileſt crime, in vileſt words, in the vileſt rhime; [that is the author of Leap-Frog, hight — Shirley, Eſq.] toſſes up St. Paul's, and ſets it topſy-turvey on its golden croſs. It is thus he turns every thing arſey-verſey; even putting the all-ſeeing eye of Heaven into the blind eye of a glow-worm's tail. It is thus he makes Biſhop Lowth a blockhead—Dan Shakeſpeare unnatural—Orator Pitt a ſtammerer, and thou, great Roſcius, a tootheſs old oyſter-woman! [l. 134—153.] Wouldſt thou be pleaſed that, when a future Plutarch [probably meaning Parſon W—s, author of as curious a proſe Epiſtle to D. G. Eſq.] ſhall uſher thee into the temple of Fame, he ſhould damn thy reputation, by placing Bavius [author of Leap-Frog] in the next niche, as thy friend? [l. 153—167.] And yet Candour will excuſe even Bavius, upon coolly reflecting on the preſent ſtrange topſey-turvey ſtate of nature; for, though formerly bulls butted with their horns, and aſſes kicked with their heels; man, bird and beaſt each following the dictates of nature; it is now quite otherwiſe; Bavius, the aſs, inſtead of lifting his heel, kicking us with his head. [l. 167—185.] Yet thou, immaculate Roſcius, need'ſt fear nothing, not even a legion of devils, with their Captain Satan, or their Lieutenant-Captain Mendax, at their head, being poſſeſſed of conſcious innocence and the impenetrable ſhield of VIRTUE. [l. 185—203.] Thou haſt nothing to do but to liſten to my numerous, melodious and nectareous verſe; which flows to give Le⯑thaean reſt to that perturbed ſpirit in thy breaſt; which, ſecured by virtue and innocence, does nothing but laugh and ſing; while guilt can never be lulled to reſt, though by a Welch harp, ſtrung with the harmonious locks of Apollo. [l. 203—227.] It is pleaſant to ſee repulſed the feeble attacks of that Grubſtreet-laureate, Zoilus, author of Love-in-the-Suds [hight Dr. Kenrick] monarch of Fleet-ditch, and Uſurper of the throne of Cloacina; whoſe cleanly revenues he receives, like another Roman Empe⯑ror, from the hands of ſcavengers. [227—275.]
POSTSCRIPT.
Thou art the ſun, to whom the fly was once ſent ambaſſador, from the inſects, who could not bear thy meridian glory. Thou ſcorcheſt the eyes of literary gnats, theatric beetles and be-doctor'd bats; darklings, obſcene, dim children of the night, who club their malice to execrate thy light; being unable to ſhine, till thou art retired behind the ſcenes, in "Thetis' lap to reſt." [l. 275 ad ult.]
[3]Line 20. The curioſa felicitas, or happy choice of words, and chaſtity of metaphor, for which our reverend author is ſo eminently diſtinguiſhed, begin already to manifeſt themſelves.
So that bright ſun, prime nouriſher of wit,
Which burns in Burke, in Lyttelton and Pitt.
This is the firſt time, we believe, that the flaming brightneſs or burning heat of the ſun, has been miſtaken for that genial warmth by which it nou⯑riſhes either fruits or flowers.
It is with peculiar propriety alſo that our reverend bard has particula⯑rized the great patriot Mr. Pitt, as one of thoſe on whom the ſun of learning has ſo beneficently ſhone. The profundity of this great patriot's erudition, indeed, appears to ſingular advantage in his literary produc⯑tions; which, to uſe the juſt diſtinction of Lord Pomfret, are writ⯑ten in the liberal ſtyle of a gentleman, and not with that grammatic propriety which betrays the vulgar pen of a literary mechanick.
[4]Line 24. What a pity! To be ſure, it is a great evil that the ſun ſhines alike on the wiſe and the fooliſh; "on the juſt and the unjuſt." It is to be hoped the next time our wiſe Parſon gets into the pulpit, he will ex⯑punge this blunder from the ſacred text, and correct ſuch a groſs error in the laws of nature.
Line 34. In what book of Proverbs, or by what law of nature, the bard has made this diſcovery, we are at a loſs to gueſs. Ariſtotle in his Ethics tells us, Semper ſimilem ducit deus ad ſimilem; and again, to uſe his own words, [...]. In the proverbial ſayings of all ages and countries, we ſhall find alſo, that "like loves like." "Birds of a feather flock together," &c. Fairneſs and Foulneſs therefore are repulſive and not attractive; things homogeneous only attract⯑ing each other; agreeably to the true ſyſtem of the Newtonian philoſo⯑phy. The truth of the matter ſeems to be this: the Parſon had ſome⯑where read
Envy will Merit as its ſhade purſue.
But then the poet adds
It like a ſhadow proves the ſubſtance true.
Becauſe there can be no ſhadow without a ſubſtance; but then our ingeni⯑ous Maſter of Arts forgot that the ſhadow bears a reſemblance to the ſub⯑ſtance and does not differ from it as foul doth from fair; as this divine poet, or rather poetical divine, has above ſo roundly aſſerted.
[5]Line 42. What elegance of imagery do we find in this deſcription of Pomona, fruitful mother, Autumn's queen; repreſented here, as ſpreading her vegetable petticoats, the vine or the fig-leaf, to preſerve her mellow cluſters, from the depredation of thoſe deſpe⯑rate banditti the waſps, whom he ſatirizes ſo wittily and ſeverely for their immoral and ſcandalous behaviour in being before-hand with him in the robbery of orchards.
Line 47. We ſhould be glad to know, why our poet, on whom the ſun of learning hath doubtleſs deigned to ſhine, as well as on Burke, Lyt⯑telton and Pitt, hath here added the plural cloſe, common to Engliſh words, to that of Banditti, as if its ending in s were neceſſary to make it plural. The ſingular of Banditti, in Engliſh, is Bandit, from the French, or Banditto, from the Italian. Thus Milton.
No ſavage fierce Bandit, or mountaineer.
And Shakeſpeare,
A Roman ſworder, and Banditto ſlave.
But perhaps our learned Maſter of Arts might, by Banditties, mean a num⯑ber of different companies, or ruffian bands of Banditti: but a band and a Bandit are different words. The author's ignorance, therefore, is obvious; the word Banditti being never uſed as a noun of multitude in the ſingular number, and therefore cannot be made plural, like band, or other Engliſh words, by the uſual termination in s. What a pretty Maſter of Arts! Really, friend Evan, you ſhould be ſent to ſchool again, to con your accidence.
[6]Line 48. For "Waſps, who ſing"—we ſhould certainly read "Waſps who ſting. "—Of ſtinging waſps we have heard: but of ſinging waſps never. This we ſhould have thought an errour of the preſs, but for the reaſon aſ⯑ſigned in the next note.
Line 50. Our author ſeems to entertain a violent reſentment, if not a rooted antipathy, againſt the whole ferae naturae. We ſhould, however be glad to know by whom, according to his ſyſtem of religion and morals, they were laid under any moral obligation, and to whom they are ac⯑countable.
The downy peach, the bloom-ſuffuſed plumb,
that bloom-ſuffuſed is a happy epithet!
Proclaim their wrongs with bleeding mouths, tho' dumb.
From a dumb mouth muſt certainly proceed a ſilent proclamation; which muſt, of courſe, alſo, be juſt as curious as intelligible. Our poet ſeems, indeed, here to be as good a naturaliſt as he is a moraliſt and divine: but as we, Scriblerius Vapularius, are ſtrangers to the phyſical ſenſation and moral ſentiment of vegetables, we are at a loſs to gueſs at his meaning, either re⯑ligious, philoſophical, or moral.
Line 60. What a happy diſcovery, and how worthy a proteſtant divine, that the ſyſtem of Providence is a prepoſterous ſyſtem! It is no wonder, [7]if he found ſuch abſurdity prevail in the ſyſtem of nature, that he ſhould find more in a ſyſtem of art.
Line 62. This crime of being bright is certainly a very capital one, though it is not likely our author will ever be found guilty of it.
Line 64. By this rhyme of offence and defence, it ſeems as if our poet had entered into a league offenſive and defenſive againſt Engliſh verſifica⯑tion.
Line 68. We have heard of book-worms, natural and metaphorical, but they are ſuch as devour books, inſtead of reading them. As to a ſpel⯑ling worm, we never heard of ſuch a reptile either in the natural or lite⯑rary ſyſtem. Our author's ſpelling worm appears alſo to be, at the ſame time, a mere garden grub, who cankers the laurels of the poet, while he is ſpelling his verſes.
Line 72. The chief grub having, undergone its metamorphoſis, is now become a caterpillar. We find, however, that his transformation is but partial; he being ſtill famed for long words and pedantry. This is the firſt time we have known a caterpillar reproached with the uſe of the ſeſquipedàlia. Had our poet called Dr. Johnſon, the perſon here alluded to, a caterpillar or grub-worm critic, the metaphor would have been pre⯑ſerved: but he cannot be at once a human hog and a hog-horſe.
[8]Line 76. Theſe thouſand feet would be applicable enough to the critic, conſidered as a millepedes, or wood-louſe, inſtead of a worm, or caterpillar; though it be whimſical to think an inſect ſhould carry ſpurs on its feet, to goad itſelf. As the text ſtands, however, our Maſter of Arts ſeems ſo learned a naturaliſt, as not to know a grub from an earwig.
Line 85. We ſhall leave the Doctors Cadogan, Hill, and Ingram, to decide whether ſnails can be afflicted with the gout or not; and if not to ſome future critic to diſcuſs the propriety of this epithet. But we, muſt not omit to obſerve that, for want of grammatical conſtruction, in theſe two lines,
Onward he crawleth, like a gouty ſnail,
Cowards to fight, or felons to a jail,
The laſt is downright nonſenſe; unleſs the poet meant to make ſenſe of half of it, by ſaying he crawleth to fight cowards; for which, by the way, he does not ſeem to have occaſion for a thouſand feet.
[9]Line 95. We never heard that the Apoſtle, or any Saint of the name of James; kept his court, or was ſurrounded with a brilliant cir⯑cle at his levee. Our poetical parſon muſt certainly mean, therefore, the brilliant circle in the drawing-room or preſence-chamber, at St. James's; ſo that the above lines, inſtead of running as above, ſhould be corrected, and ſtand as under,
When in the brilliant circle of St. James's
Amelia's beauties ſet the court in flames's.
Line 100. Query, Doth the poet mean that Nature hath given but⯑terflies power only to ſtain their mealy wings? or to ſtain any thing elſe with, or by means of, their mealy wings? If the former, he has written nonſenſe; if the latter, falſe grammar.
Line 106. The muſes claſping the genius of Roſcius, and his ſhining Parnaſſus' pride without a waſp, is ſomething beautifully metaphorical, if it were but intelligible. It is pity that claſp and waſp are not the beſt of rhimes. Raſp or haſp would have mended the ſound and could not have marred the ſenſe.
[10]Line 112. This revelling in the ſavour of the nine, muſt be attended alſo with a ſingular kind of beatitude; eſpecially if the maids are ſtill ſo coy as to confine their ſavours to a ſimple kiſs. And yet this, perhaps, is as much as he ought to wiſh for; ſince, though he might poſſibly be able to deflower, he could never ſatisfactorily enjoy them.
Line 115, Of Roſcius's ſwimming on a ſea of glory, one may form ſome idea, by ſeeing the buoy at the Nore ride over the waves, at all times of the tide; or to adapt more properly my ſimile to the ſub⯑ject, by ſeeing the float of a fiſhing-line dance upon the ſurface of the water, till ſome gudgeon bite at the hook. But what is to be underſtood by the tides of pleaſure drowning the brim of the ſea of glory, we muſt leave to the ſagacity of happier ſcholiaſts.
Line 119. We have frequently heard that loſers have leave to rail; but why the loſer is to be called a wretch, becauſe the winner is a raſcal, we do not comprehend. But perhaps the good Roſcius can inform us why the author of Edward the Black Prince has reaſon to rail. Did that conſcientious manager ever pick his pocket of five hundred pounds, in the ſame infamous manner as he did that of the author of Falſtaff's Wedding?
[11]Line 129. It would indeed be a wiſer way than to run to hireling pleaders and pettifogging attorneys, to avenge his cauſe, by proceedings little better than the ſubornation of perjury.
Line 135. The raving bard here pointed at, ſeems to be the author of a ſcandalous copy of verſes, entitled Leap-Frog, deſcriptive of that dirty game, publiſhed in the Public Ledger; the rhimes of which were certainly bad enough, and worſe than any we have ever ſeen, except thoſe of our au⯑thor.
[12]Line 153. Theſe are admirable lines and the compariſon of Roſcius to an oyſter-woman, very applicable to the criticiſms on that great actor's playing, publiſhed in the Gazeteer, before it became a vehicle to the puffs of the manager. The proſopopeia or perſonification of ſuch cenſures is alſo very beautiful: it might have been mended, however, had the poet repreſented them as waſps, gnats, or hornets; unleſs by moths he meant to allude to their picking holes in the manager's coat.
Line 167. By no means. Let him not mention Bavius, but Maevius: not the irreverend author of the Black Prince, but the reverend au⯑thor of the Powers of the Pen. Qui Bavium odit amet tua carmina Maevi. The friendſhip of ſo great a poet as our Maevius, muſt redound to the honour of Roſcius to the lateſt poſterity.
Line 171. This diſtinction between ill-blood ond ill-will is another in⯑ſtance of our author's wonderful diſcoveries in phyſicks and morality; or rather of his dexterous uſe of that rhetorical trope, the metaphor. That [13]bad blood ſhould produce a ſtrangury of wit, is a circumſtance, we believe, only known to our author; unleſs by wit he means humour, and thinks all kinds of humour alike; in which caſe, to be ſure, a cachectic habit, ariſing from the abuſe of the non-naturals, may preduce a ſtrangury of wit; with which maſter Evan, if he ever had any wit, ſeems to be unhappily affected. Facit indignatio verſus is an old adage, and ſeems applicable to the haſty and turbulent ebullitions of ill blood. Our author's appear to be the effect of ill-will; cold blooded verſes, that have neither the heat of anger, for their excuſe on the one hand, nor the warmth of good-will, to recommend them on the other.
Line 177. The Powers of the pen are moſt happily exerted in this deſcription of a coſtive poet, who ‘Strains from hard-bound brains a line a day.’
His pangs and throes are alſo ſo feelingly expreſſed, that they demonſtra⯑tively prove the ſituation to be our author's own caſe; as indeed it is con⯑firmed by the ſeven months labour of the preſent production—Inſtead of no drop of wit, we ſhould read no bit of wit, &c. for, ſuppoſing wit a fluid, be it ever ſo brilliant and pellucid, it would mix and be undiſcoverable in the muddy medium of an author's ink-ſtand. Beſides the bit and the wit are ſo pit pat to our author's knack at alliteration, that noſtro periculo, we will venture to declare the printer muſt have made a blunder.
[14]Line 185. What wonder, when every thing both in the natural and moral world is confeſſedly turned topſy turvey! It is by no means more unnatural, or out of character, than to ſee a reverend divine kiſs the backſide of a ſtage-player!
Line 187. This butts like baited bull, is beautifully alliterative and idiomatical. It is a pity it puts us ſo much in mind of Quince and Bully Bottom; with the
—blade the bloody blameful blade
That bravely broached his boiling bloody breaſt.
Line 193. Beſtow'd and God make another curious rhime. Indeed there is not a page in the Parſon's text without one or two equally curious; wit⯑neſs ſkull and bull in the preſent; an excellent rhime!
Line 197. 'Gainſt the world's malice virtue takes the field! What a flowing, numerous, melodious and nectareous line is this! It is to be equalled only by the mellifluous and elegant eaſe of the following;
Legions of dev'ls, with Satan at their head.
[15]Line 203. True: for which reaſon he flew, like the magnanimous Capt. Bobadil, to take ſatisfaction at law. The impenetrable buckler of conſcious innocence was not proof, till lined with the tough parchment of the Crown Office. And yet conſcious innocence did not chuſe to truſt its buff doublet, behind even this legal target, too far.
Line 209. That he, whoever he is, for the pronoun has no antecedent in the context; we ſay, that he is of the human ſpecies, cannot be admit⯑ted; that he has a ſoul, or that his ſoul is impreſſed with either the vir⯑tues or the vices of humanity, WE deny. That, by his happy talent at mi⯑mickry, he takes them off moſt admirably cannot be diſputed; but we know that mimickry is characteriſtic of an inferior kind of animals; ſo that we may juſtly ſay of this wonderful imitator of mankind, that ſuperior mortals
Admire ſuch mimicry in human ſhape,
And praiſe a Garrick as they praiſe an Ape.
That this animal has no ſoul, is notorious even to a proverb: and we hope our parſon is not, like Parſon Horne, ſo great an infidel as to think mankind have no ſouls.
Line 214. How is this!—What does our proteſtant Parſon believe in FATE?—Peeviſh fate, diſſatisfied with the choiceſt work of nature!— [16]We were too precipitate in ſuppoſing him no atheiſt. The parſon of Brentford is a novice to him in pagan mythology. But perhaps he will quibble, and ſay a fataliſt is no atheiſt. Well, well, we won't diſpute with him about words; let him no longer, like his brother patriot, diſgrace his profeſſion, but throw off his parſon's gown, and we will ſet him down for a ſimple heathen.
Line 223. That is the perturbed ſpirit, which, ſecure behind the Aegis or moral ſhield, of conſcious innocence, could laugh and ſing at the attack of Bavius; and defy whole legions of devils with General Satan, or even his Lieutenant (for he had ſeen Captains and Lieutenant Captains too) at their head. What an admirable anti-climax hath our poet borrowed from Tummas Appletree and Coſter Pearmain!
Line 225. This idea of a Welch harp being ſtrung with the carrotty locks of Apollo, is apparently too a borrowed thought; for who does not ſee that this device of Apollo's harmony lying in his hair, was ſuggeſted to him by Sampſon's ſtrength lying in thoſe curling locks; of which Dalilah ſo perfidiouſly deprived him? Or, perhaps, our author, was thinking of his crowd, and the harmony, which a little roſin rubs into the hair of a fiddle-ſtick!
[17]Line 239. What a beautiful Epanalepſis is exhibited in theſe two lines! and with what a happy Homoiteleuton do they cloſe! The know and do are beſides moſt aptly alluſive to the duty of the two barriſters toward their old clients Doe and Roe; of whoſe names this lucky rhime ſo natu⯑rally reminds us.
Line 241. The poet is not quite ſo happy here in the uſe of the me⯑taphor. This diſtinguiſhed pair of learned counſellors are repreſented as two pillars, the daily ſupport of their country, and at the ſame time en⯑joying its merited love. The image is preciſely that of a drunken pa⯑triot, tottering at the door of the Hercules'-pillars or two blue-poſts; which he hugs moſt cordially, for fear of tumbling into the kennel. The ſatisfaction enjoyed by pillar or poſt, we leave to be explained by the archetypes of ſuch proper emblems.
[118] Smooth-ſpoken Mansfield,†Not the judge of that name, but the barriſter, who is by no means a judge. with his vacant face,
In ſoftening accents firſt ſhall ope his caſe;
Which to defend, the want of Merlin's cunning
Shall be ſupplied by that of Grimbald Dunning.‡See King Arthur, lately revived at Drury-Lane Theatre, and attend the pleadings in our courts of law and equity at Weſtminſter, Guildhall, and Lincoln's-Inn.
It were difficult to exhibit a greater proof of ſtupidity than our Welch bard has done, in taking the above paſſages ſeriouſly. Is the one counſellor a fool becauſe he is not a judge? Or the other a devil becauſe he has got Grim⯑bald's unfortunate phyz? And yet when the one ſets up for wiſdom and the other for beauty, a ſatiriſt need not be over and above ſplenetic, to call the one a booby and the other a deviliſh ugly fellow.
As a farther ſpecimen of the wretched Iines contained in the above-men⯑tioned execrably dull poem, the reader will pleaſe to take the following, which its author puts into the mouth of Roſcius.
Curſe on that K-NR-CK, ſoul of ſpleen and whim!
What are my puffs, and what my gains to him?
If poor and proud, can he of right complain
That wealthier men and wittier are as vain;
Why muſt he hint that I am paſt my prime,
To blaſt my fading laurels ere their time?
Death to my fame, and what, alas, is worſe,
'Tis death, damnation, to my craving purſe;
Capacious purſe! by PLUTUS form'd to hold
(The God of wealth) the devil and all of gold.
Inſatiate purſe, that never yet ran o'er,
But ſwallows all, and gapes, like hell for more.
And yet, alas! how much the world will lye!
They call me miſer; but no miſer I;
He, brooding o'er his bags, delighted ſits,
And laughs to ſcorn the jeſts of envious wits;
[19]If faſt his doors, he ſets his heart at reſt,
And dotes with rapture on his iron cheſt;
No galling paper-ſquibs his ſpirits teize,
But ev'n the boys may hoot him if they pleaſe.
He ſcorns the whiſtling of an empty name,
While I am torn 'twixt avarice and fame;
While I, ſo tremblingly alive all o'er,
Still bleed and agonize at every pore;
At ev'ry hiſs am harrowed up with fear,
And burſt with choler at a critic's ſneer.
Rack'd by the gout and ſtone, and ſtruck with age,
Prudence and eaſe adviſe to quit the ſtage;
But Fame ſtill prompts▪ and pride can feel no pain;
And Avarice bids me ſell my ſoul for gain.
Line 246. And hard labour it is too, Heaven knows: and what is ſtill worſe, it is likely, after all, to prove Labour-in-Vain!
Line 259. We ſhall not ſtand up for the cleanlineſs of Love in the Suds: the waſhing-tub, though a neceſſary implement to cleanlineſs, is itſelf a dirty ſubject, and we think the author did right, at any rate, to rid his hands of it. Should we recur, however, to the news-paper altercation it gave riſe to, we ſhall find the Monarch of Drury-lane, even then, more deeply intrenched on his throne of mud, than his antagoniſt, the Monarch of Fleet-ditch.
[20]Since the abdication of the latter, alſo, the cleanly Roſcius ſeems to have ſucceeded to his rival, and at preſent to poſſeſs the throne of both kingdoms; the publication before us being the third tributary pamphlet his mock majeſty has ſince received from his literary ſcavengers; who keep ſtill throwing dirt on the adverſary, notwithſtanding the proclama⯑tion of a peace. To preſerve the name of theſe ſtink-pots, would be do⯑ing too much honour to the wretches employed in ſuch dirty work; but leſt their exiſtence ſhould be doubted, we ſhall juſt mention their titles and authors. 1ſt, The Kenrickad, by that literary trollop, Mrs. Brokes. 2d, The Recantation, &c. by that filthy Yahoo, Paul Hiffernan. 3dly, Though laſt, not leaſt of this goodly trïo, the preſent Epiſtle, by that forgiving and forgetting Chriſtian Divine the Reverend Evan Lloyd, Maſter of Arts.
We cannot help thinking that theſe repeated attacks on the enemy, after having by agreement laid down his arms, would juſtify him in taking them up again. An authentic account of the riſe progreſs, and accommo⯑dation of the late diſpute between Dr. K. and Mr. G. ſeems indeed neceſſa⯑ry for the juſtification of both. For though the former hath fully excul⯑pated both himſelf and the latter, reſpecting the odious inſinuation, which various circumſtances unluckily contributed to caſt on him, he has left it ſtill extremely apparent, that a manager of a theatre may not be ad⯑dicted to a particular vice, and yet be notwithſtanding a very great raſcal.
Line 262. A beluted prince ſhould rather ſeem one upon whom dirt is thrown, than one accuſed of throwing, dirt.
Line 269. It was indeed but mere talk; his threats and vapouring being equally impudent and impotent. So far, indeed, was the god of our [21]parſon's idolatry, Mr. G. from chuſing to proceed in his ridiculous proſe⯑ſecution of the author of Love-in-the-Suds: whoſe poetical attack on him was merely laughable and ludicrous; that he thought proper to decline even the proſecution of the editor of Leap Frog, in which he had been ex⯑plicitly and directly charged with what the former lampoon was miſtakenly and falſely ſuppoſed to inſinuate.
It is, on the whole, peculiarly modeſt in our Welch Parſon, to reproach the author of Love-in-the-Suds for being a libeller; when he himſelf was not long ſince convicted in the court of King's-bench, and committed to the priſon of that court, accordingly, for writing a libel; a libel too of the moſt uncharitable and infamous kind, in a man of his ſacred function; being levelled at his neighbour, for exerciſing liberty of conſcience in matters of religion and morality. It was on this occaſion he obtained from [...] Mansfield the diſtinguiſhing appellation of THE WELCH PARSON.
Not that we mean, whatever his Lordſhip might do, to rouſe the blood of Cadwallader, by caſting any ungentlemanlike reflection on the country of Welch bards. At the ſame time, nevertheleſs, we have not the vanity to think we ſhall convict the preſent, of being the blockhead he really is, be⯑fore a jury of his own countrymen. The amor patriae, which burns in the breaſt of every ancient Briton will effectually prevent it; as we are con⯑vinced by a ſtory, once told us by a Welch judge; who, after ſumming up the evidence, againſt one of our author's nameſakes, accuſed of ſheep-ſtealing, was anſwered pithily and pertinently by the foreman of the jury, as follows: ‘Your Lortſhip need not taak ſo much trouple, as we ſhall find the pris'ner not guilty; hur na [...]me is Lloyd, and there never was a Lloyd hang'd for ſheep-taaking in our time, nor, py cot, ever ſhall, ſo long as we are 'pon the chury!’
[22]Line 277. Candour obliges us to do juſtice to our author, in anſwer to the impertinent cenſures of the Monthly and Critical reviews; the editors of which, will next month proceed to take him to taſk in the manner fol⯑lowing: ‘What a wiſe-acre is this Welch bard, to ſuppoſe that the ſun ſhoots its rays from Sirius, i. e. the dog-ſtar, to the earth; when it is well known that Sirius is 27664 times farther from us than the ſun, and that the fixed ſtars ſhine with their own, and not a borrowed light. Our poetical divine, though born and bred on the mountains of Wales, whence he might be ſuppoſed to have acquired a nearer acquaintance with the heavens, ſhews himſelf to be very ignorant of the ſcience of aſtronomy. We would, therefore, recommend him to the peruſal of Ptolomy, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, Ricciolus, Caſſini, De la Hire, and above all, our learned countrymen Flamſtead and Sir Iſaac Newton.’
With humble ſubmiſſion, however, to Goody Griffith and the Hodman⯑dod, who may have read all the above authors (that is, the names of them, in Tom Davies's catalogue) our poet may know as much of aſtronomy as they do of criticiſm. It is true that by Sc [...]ra, as it was called by the Arabs, [...] by the Greeks, and Sirius among the Latins, is uſually meant a ſtar of the firſt magnitude in the mouth of Canis major. It is of this ſtar, as the ſcholiaſts tell us, that Virgil ſpeaks, in the third book of his Aeneid, Steriles exurit Sirius agros; and Lucan, Sirius exerit ignes rabidos. Again, nothing is more common with our Engliſh poets, than to tell us, after the ſummer ſol⯑ſtice, that Sirius the dog-ſtar rages. But notwithſtanding all this, our au⯑thor ſeems to have the advantage of the reviewers; for though the beſt au⯑thors mean by Sirius, the dog-ſtar, ſome of the worſt (as we are told by He⯑ſychius the lexicographer, or Heſychius the monk, for having neither, I can⯑not poſitively tell which) ſometimes means by Sirius the Sun. Now, though our author ſeems to have betrayed a want of taſte and diſcernment, in adopting the unclaſſical practice of the corrupt ages of Latinity, yet we ſay he ſhould not be cenſured for reading bad Latin books, inſtead of good ones, by criticks, who never were capable of reading any at all, good, bad or in⯑different.
[23]Line 290. By literary gnats, our author is ſuppoſed to mean thoſe trou⯑bleſome ſcribblers, that ſo conſtantly annoy his friend Roſcius in the Lon⯑don and Whitehall evening poſts, together with thoſe in the few morning papers which are not under the management of the manager.
Line 291. By theatric beatles are ſuppoſed to be meant the proprietors and all the players of Covent-Garden theatre; together with thoſe even of Drury-lane, who do not ſacrifice to Moloch, and bow the knee to Baal. By be-doctor'd bats are evidently meant thoſe two ignorant and illiterate blockheads Doctor Samuel Johnſon and Doctor William Kenrick, not omitting perhaps even that mirrour of doctorſhip, Scriblerius Flagellarius ourſelf; inferior to nei⯑ther Buſbeius, Bentleius, Budeus, Ruaeus, nor any other flagellator, ancient or modern. We would therefore adviſe this truant divine to mend his man⯑ners, reſtrain his petulance, and kiſs the rod of our correction; leſt he pro⯑voke a heavier chaſtiſement, and from hi preſent inanity, ſink into ſtill leſs than nothing, beneath the weight of our caſtigation.
FINIS.
COMMENT.
[]The Author not having given us the argument of his Epiſtle, we ſhall begin the buſineſs of his Scholiaſt, by endeavouring to make it out as well as we can, for the convenience of the proſaic reader.
ARGUMENT OF THE TEXT.
As in the phyſical or natural world the ſun cheriſhes alike both weeds and flowers, ſo in the world of letters the ſun of learning ſhines alike, both on the ſcholar and the dunce, on the genius and the blockhead. [From the beginning to line 22.] Many and great are the evils which have fol⯑lowed this promiſcuous diſpenſation of natural and literary bleſſings. [l. 22 to 27.] According to the wiſdom of ages, and the laws of nature, it is a received maxim, that oppoſites attract oppoſites; as FAIRNES; Foulneſs, and ſo forth. The depth of Heaven's deſign in this is left to be ſounded by the metaphyſicians. [l. 27—36.] Facts alone are abided by, and the waſps, worms and flies, that prey upon our peaches and pears, are ſhewn to be a natural evil, and a vile blunder in the ſyſtem of Providence. [l. 36—38.] The world of letters is ſtill more prepoſterous than that of nature; dunces and blockheads conſtantly hunting down men of parts and genius. [l. 58 to 64.] Thus that old Grub and miniſterial penſioner, the author of the Falſe Alarm [hight Dr. Sam. Johnſon] endeavoured to hunt down the well-known JUNIUS. [l. 64—100.] And thus muſt thou, immortal Roſcius, favoured by all the nine, expect to be hunted up and down. Nor canſt thou repine, while revelling in the embraces of the coy maids, at being [2]ſubject to the hiſſing of the ſnakes of Envy. [l. 100—134.] While Envy's fever burns, the raving bard, Bavius, with venomed heart, paints the vileſt crime, in vileſt words, in the vileſt rhime; [that is the author of Leap-Frog, hight — Shirley, Eſq.] toſſes up St. Paul's, and ſets it topſy-turvey on its golden croſs. It is thus he turns every thing arſey-verſey; even putting the all-ſeeing eye of Heaven into the blind eye of a glow-worm's tail. It is thus he makes Biſhop Lowth a blockhead—Dan Shakeſpeare unnatural—Orator Pitt a ſtammerer, and thou, great Roſcius, a tootheſs old oyſter-woman! [l. 134—153.] Wouldſt thou be pleaſed that, when a future Plutarch [probably meaning Parſon W—s, author of as curious a proſe Epiſtle to D. G. Eſq.] ſhall uſher thee into the temple of Fame, he ſhould damn thy reputation, by placing Bavius [author of Leap-Frog] in the next niche, as thy friend? [l. 153—167.] And yet Candour will excuſe even Bavius, upon coolly reflecting on the preſent ſtrange topſey-turvey ſtate of nature; for, though formerly bulls butted with their horns, and aſſes kicked with their heels; man, bird and beaſt each following the dictates of nature; it is now quite otherwiſe; Bavius, the aſs, inſtead of lifting his heel, kicking us with his head. [l. 167—185.] Yet thou, immaculate Roſcius, need'ſt fear nothing, not even a legion of devils, with their Captain Satan, or their Lieutenant-Captain Mendax, at their head, being poſſeſſed of conſcious innocence and the impenetrable ſhield of VIRTUE. [l. 185—203.] Thou haſt nothing to do but to liſten to my numerous, melodious and nectareous verſe; which flows to give Le⯑thaean reſt to that perturbed ſpirit in thy breaſt; which, ſecured by virtue and innocence, does nothing but laugh and ſing; while guilt can never be lulled to reſt, though by a Welch harp, ſtrung with the harmonious locks of Apollo. [l. 203—227.] It is pleaſant to ſee repulſed the feeble attacks of that Grubſtreet-laureate, Zoilus, author of Love-in-the-Suds [hight Dr. Kenrick] monarch of Fleet-ditch, and Uſurper of the throne of Cloacina; whoſe cleanly revenues he receives, like another Roman Empe⯑ror, from the hands of ſcavengers. [227—275.]
POSTSCRIPT.Thou art the ſun, to whom the fly was once ſent ambaſſador, from the inſects, who could not bear thy meridian glory. Thou ſcorcheſt the eyes of literary gnats, theatric beetles and be-doctor'd bats; darklings, obſcene, dim children of the night, who club their malice to execrate thy light; being unable to ſhine, till thou art retired behind the ſcenes, in "Thetis' lap to reſt." [l. 275 ad ult.]
[3]Line 20. The curioſa felicitas, or happy choice of words, and chaſtity of metaphor, for which our reverend author is ſo eminently diſtinguiſhed, begin already to manifeſt themſelves.
This is the firſt time, we believe, that the flaming brightneſs or burning heat of the ſun, has been miſtaken for that genial warmth by which it nou⯑riſhes either fruits or flowers.
It is with peculiar propriety alſo that our reverend bard has particula⯑rized the great patriot Mr. Pitt, as one of thoſe on whom the ſun of learning has ſo beneficently ſhone. The profundity of this great patriot's erudition, indeed, appears to ſingular advantage in his literary produc⯑tions; which, to uſe the juſt diſtinction of Lord Pomfret, are writ⯑ten in the liberal ſtyle of a gentleman, and not with that grammatic propriety which betrays the vulgar pen of a literary mechanick.
[4]Line 24. What a pity! To be ſure, it is a great evil that the ſun ſhines alike on the wiſe and the fooliſh; "on the juſt and the unjuſt." It is to be hoped the next time our wiſe Parſon gets into the pulpit, he will ex⯑punge this blunder from the ſacred text, and correct ſuch a groſs error in the laws of nature.
Line 34. In what book of Proverbs, or by what law of nature, the bard has made this diſcovery, we are at a loſs to gueſs. Ariſtotle in his Ethics tells us, Semper ſimilem ducit deus ad ſimilem; and again, to uſe his own words, [...]. In the proverbial ſayings of all ages and countries, we ſhall find alſo, that "like loves like." "Birds of a feather flock together," &c. Fairneſs and Foulneſs therefore are repulſive and not attractive; things homogeneous only attract⯑ing each other; agreeably to the true ſyſtem of the Newtonian philoſo⯑phy. The truth of the matter ſeems to be this: the Parſon had ſome⯑where read
But then the poet adds
Becauſe there can be no ſhadow without a ſubſtance; but then our ingeni⯑ous Maſter of Arts forgot that the ſhadow bears a reſemblance to the ſub⯑ſtance and does not differ from it as foul doth from fair; as this divine poet, or rather poetical divine, has above ſo roundly aſſerted.
[5]Line 42. What elegance of imagery do we find in this deſcription of Pomona, fruitful mother, Autumn's queen; repreſented here, as ſpreading her vegetable petticoats, the vine or the fig-leaf, to preſerve her mellow cluſters, from the depredation of thoſe deſpe⯑rate banditti the waſps, whom he ſatirizes ſo wittily and ſeverely for their immoral and ſcandalous behaviour in being before-hand with him in the robbery of orchards.
Line 47. We ſhould be glad to know, why our poet, on whom the ſun of learning hath doubtleſs deigned to ſhine, as well as on Burke, Lyt⯑telton and Pitt, hath here added the plural cloſe, common to Engliſh words, to that of Banditti, as if its ending in s were neceſſary to make it plural. The ſingular of Banditti, in Engliſh, is Bandit, from the French, or Banditto, from the Italian. Thus Milton.
And Shakeſpeare,
But perhaps our learned Maſter of Arts might, by Banditties, mean a num⯑ber of different companies, or ruffian bands of Banditti: but a band and a Bandit are different words. The author's ignorance, therefore, is obvious; the word Banditti being never uſed as a noun of multitude in the ſingular number, and therefore cannot be made plural, like band, or other Engliſh words, by the uſual termination in s. What a pretty Maſter of Arts! Really, friend Evan, you ſhould be ſent to ſchool again, to con your accidence.
[6]Line 48. For "Waſps, who ſing"—we ſhould certainly read "Waſps who ſting. "—Of ſtinging waſps we have heard: but of ſinging waſps never. This we ſhould have thought an errour of the preſs, but for the reaſon aſ⯑ſigned in the next note.
Line 50. Our author ſeems to entertain a violent reſentment, if not a rooted antipathy, againſt the whole ferae naturae. We ſhould, however be glad to know by whom, according to his ſyſtem of religion and morals, they were laid under any moral obligation, and to whom they are ac⯑countable.
that bloom-ſuffuſed is a happy epithet!
From a dumb mouth muſt certainly proceed a ſilent proclamation; which muſt, of courſe, alſo, be juſt as curious as intelligible. Our poet ſeems, indeed, here to be as good a naturaliſt as he is a moraliſt and divine: but as we, Scriblerius Vapularius, are ſtrangers to the phyſical ſenſation and moral ſentiment of vegetables, we are at a loſs to gueſs at his meaning, either re⯑ligious, philoſophical, or moral.
Line 60. What a happy diſcovery, and how worthy a proteſtant divine, that the ſyſtem of Providence is a prepoſterous ſyſtem! It is no wonder, [7]if he found ſuch abſurdity prevail in the ſyſtem of nature, that he ſhould find more in a ſyſtem of art.
Line 62. This crime of being bright is certainly a very capital one, though it is not likely our author will ever be found guilty of it.
Line 64. By this rhyme of offence and defence, it ſeems as if our poet had entered into a league offenſive and defenſive againſt Engliſh verſifica⯑tion.
Line 68. We have heard of book-worms, natural and metaphorical, but they are ſuch as devour books, inſtead of reading them. As to a ſpel⯑ling worm, we never heard of ſuch a reptile either in the natural or lite⯑rary ſyſtem. Our author's ſpelling worm appears alſo to be, at the ſame time, a mere garden grub, who cankers the laurels of the poet, while he is ſpelling his verſes.
Line 72. The chief grub having, undergone its metamorphoſis, is now become a caterpillar. We find, however, that his transformation is but partial; he being ſtill famed for long words and pedantry. This is the firſt time we have known a caterpillar reproached with the uſe of the ſeſquipedàlia. Had our poet called Dr. Johnſon, the perſon here alluded to, a caterpillar or grub-worm critic, the metaphor would have been pre⯑ſerved: but he cannot be at once a human hog and a hog-horſe.
[8]Line 76. Theſe thouſand feet would be applicable enough to the critic, conſidered as a millepedes, or wood-louſe, inſtead of a worm, or caterpillar; though it be whimſical to think an inſect ſhould carry ſpurs on its feet, to goad itſelf. As the text ſtands, however, our Maſter of Arts ſeems ſo learned a naturaliſt, as not to know a grub from an earwig.
Line 85. We ſhall leave the Doctors Cadogan, Hill, and Ingram, to decide whether ſnails can be afflicted with the gout or not; and if not to ſome future critic to diſcuſs the propriety of this epithet. But we, muſt not omit to obſerve that, for want of grammatical conſtruction, in theſe two lines,
The laſt is downright nonſenſe; unleſs the poet meant to make ſenſe of half of it, by ſaying he crawleth to fight cowards; for which, by the way, he does not ſeem to have occaſion for a thouſand feet.
[9]Line 95. We never heard that the Apoſtle, or any Saint of the name of James; kept his court, or was ſurrounded with a brilliant cir⯑cle at his levee. Our poetical parſon muſt certainly mean, therefore, the brilliant circle in the drawing-room or preſence-chamber, at St. James's; ſo that the above lines, inſtead of running as above, ſhould be corrected, and ſtand as under,
Line 100. Query, Doth the poet mean that Nature hath given but⯑terflies power only to ſtain their mealy wings? or to ſtain any thing elſe with, or by means of, their mealy wings? If the former, he has written nonſenſe; if the latter, falſe grammar.
Line 106. The muſes claſping the genius of Roſcius, and his ſhining Parnaſſus' pride without a waſp, is ſomething beautifully metaphorical, if it were but intelligible. It is pity that claſp and waſp are not the beſt of rhimes. Raſp or haſp would have mended the ſound and could not have marred the ſenſe.
[10]Line 112. This revelling in the ſavour of the nine, muſt be attended alſo with a ſingular kind of beatitude; eſpecially if the maids are ſtill ſo coy as to confine their ſavours to a ſimple kiſs. And yet this, perhaps, is as much as he ought to wiſh for; ſince, though he might poſſibly be able to deflower, he could never ſatisfactorily enjoy them.
Line 115, Of Roſcius's ſwimming on a ſea of glory, one may form ſome idea, by ſeeing the buoy at the Nore ride over the waves, at all times of the tide; or to adapt more properly my ſimile to the ſub⯑ject, by ſeeing the float of a fiſhing-line dance upon the ſurface of the water, till ſome gudgeon bite at the hook. But what is to be underſtood by the tides of pleaſure drowning the brim of the ſea of glory, we muſt leave to the ſagacity of happier ſcholiaſts.
Line 119. We have frequently heard that loſers have leave to rail; but why the loſer is to be called a wretch, becauſe the winner is a raſcal, we do not comprehend. But perhaps the good Roſcius can inform us why the author of Edward the Black Prince has reaſon to rail. Did that conſcientious manager ever pick his pocket of five hundred pounds, in the ſame infamous manner as he did that of the author of Falſtaff's Wedding?
[11]Line 129. It would indeed be a wiſer way than to run to hireling pleaders and pettifogging attorneys, to avenge his cauſe, by proceedings little better than the ſubornation of perjury.
Line 135. The raving bard here pointed at, ſeems to be the author of a ſcandalous copy of verſes, entitled Leap-Frog, deſcriptive of that dirty game, publiſhed in the Public Ledger; the rhimes of which were certainly bad enough, and worſe than any we have ever ſeen, except thoſe of our au⯑thor.
[12]Line 153. Theſe are admirable lines and the compariſon of Roſcius to an oyſter-woman, very applicable to the criticiſms on that great actor's playing, publiſhed in the Gazeteer, before it became a vehicle to the puffs of the manager. The proſopopeia or perſonification of ſuch cenſures is alſo very beautiful: it might have been mended, however, had the poet repreſented them as waſps, gnats, or hornets; unleſs by moths he meant to allude to their picking holes in the manager's coat.
Line 167. By no means. Let him not mention Bavius, but Maevius: not the irreverend author of the Black Prince, but the reverend au⯑thor of the Powers of the Pen. Qui Bavium odit amet tua carmina Maevi. The friendſhip of ſo great a poet as our Maevius, muſt redound to the honour of Roſcius to the lateſt poſterity.
Line 171. This diſtinction between ill-blood ond ill-will is another in⯑ſtance of our author's wonderful diſcoveries in phyſicks and morality; or rather of his dexterous uſe of that rhetorical trope, the metaphor. That [13]bad blood ſhould produce a ſtrangury of wit, is a circumſtance, we believe, only known to our author; unleſs by wit he means humour, and thinks all kinds of humour alike; in which caſe, to be ſure, a cachectic habit, ariſing from the abuſe of the non-naturals, may preduce a ſtrangury of wit; with which maſter Evan, if he ever had any wit, ſeems to be unhappily affected. Facit indignatio verſus is an old adage, and ſeems applicable to the haſty and turbulent ebullitions of ill blood. Our author's appear to be the effect of ill-will; cold blooded verſes, that have neither the heat of anger, for their excuſe on the one hand, nor the warmth of good-will, to recommend them on the other.
Line 177. The Powers of the pen are moſt happily exerted in this deſcription of a coſtive poet, who ‘Strains from hard-bound brains a line a day.’
His pangs and throes are alſo ſo feelingly expreſſed, that they demonſtra⯑tively prove the ſituation to be our author's own caſe; as indeed it is con⯑firmed by the ſeven months labour of the preſent production—Inſtead of no drop of wit, we ſhould read no bit of wit, &c. for, ſuppoſing wit a fluid, be it ever ſo brilliant and pellucid, it would mix and be undiſcoverable in the muddy medium of an author's ink-ſtand. Beſides the bit and the wit are ſo pit pat to our author's knack at alliteration, that noſtro periculo, we will venture to declare the printer muſt have made a blunder.
[14]Line 185. What wonder, when every thing both in the natural and moral world is confeſſedly turned topſy turvey! It is by no means more unnatural, or out of character, than to ſee a reverend divine kiſs the backſide of a ſtage-player!
Line 187. This butts like baited bull, is beautifully alliterative and idiomatical. It is a pity it puts us ſo much in mind of Quince and Bully Bottom; with the
Line 193. Beſtow'd and God make another curious rhime. Indeed there is not a page in the Parſon's text without one or two equally curious; wit⯑neſs ſkull and bull in the preſent; an excellent rhime!
Line 197. 'Gainſt the world's malice virtue takes the field! What a flowing, numerous, melodious and nectareous line is this! It is to be equalled only by the mellifluous and elegant eaſe of the following;
[15]Line 203. True: for which reaſon he flew, like the magnanimous Capt. Bobadil, to take ſatisfaction at law. The impenetrable buckler of conſcious innocence was not proof, till lined with the tough parchment of the Crown Office. And yet conſcious innocence did not chuſe to truſt its buff doublet, behind even this legal target, too far.
Line 209. That he, whoever he is, for the pronoun has no antecedent in the context; we ſay, that he is of the human ſpecies, cannot be admit⯑ted; that he has a ſoul, or that his ſoul is impreſſed with either the vir⯑tues or the vices of humanity, WE deny. That, by his happy talent at mi⯑mickry, he takes them off moſt admirably cannot be diſputed; but we know that mimickry is characteriſtic of an inferior kind of animals; ſo that we may juſtly ſay of this wonderful imitator of mankind, that ſuperior mortals
That this animal has no ſoul, is notorious even to a proverb: and we hope our parſon is not, like Parſon Horne, ſo great an infidel as to think mankind have no ſouls.
Line 214. How is this!—What does our proteſtant Parſon believe in FATE?—Peeviſh fate, diſſatisfied with the choiceſt work of nature!— [16]We were too precipitate in ſuppoſing him no atheiſt. The parſon of Brentford is a novice to him in pagan mythology. But perhaps he will quibble, and ſay a fataliſt is no atheiſt. Well, well, we won't diſpute with him about words; let him no longer, like his brother patriot, diſgrace his profeſſion, but throw off his parſon's gown, and we will ſet him down for a ſimple heathen.
Line 223. That is the perturbed ſpirit, which, ſecure behind the Aegis or moral ſhield, of conſcious innocence, could laugh and ſing at the attack of Bavius; and defy whole legions of devils with General Satan, or even his Lieutenant (for he had ſeen Captains and Lieutenant Captains too) at their head. What an admirable anti-climax hath our poet borrowed from Tummas Appletree and Coſter Pearmain!
Line 225. This idea of a Welch harp being ſtrung with the carrotty locks of Apollo, is apparently too a borrowed thought; for who does not ſee that this device of Apollo's harmony lying in his hair, was ſuggeſted to him by Sampſon's ſtrength lying in thoſe curling locks; of which Dalilah ſo perfidiouſly deprived him? Or, perhaps, our author, was thinking of his crowd, and the harmony, which a little roſin rubs into the hair of a fiddle-ſtick!
[17]Line 239. What a beautiful Epanalepſis is exhibited in theſe two lines! and with what a happy Homoiteleuton do they cloſe! The know and do are beſides moſt aptly alluſive to the duty of the two barriſters toward their old clients Doe and Roe; of whoſe names this lucky rhime ſo natu⯑rally reminds us.
Line 241. The poet is not quite ſo happy here in the uſe of the me⯑taphor. This diſtinguiſhed pair of learned counſellors are repreſented as two pillars, the daily ſupport of their country, and at the ſame time en⯑joying its merited love. The image is preciſely that of a drunken pa⯑triot, tottering at the door of the Hercules'-pillars or two blue-poſts; which he hugs moſt cordially, for fear of tumbling into the kennel. The ſatisfaction enjoyed by pillar or poſt, we leave to be explained by the archetypes of ſuch proper emblems.
It were difficult to exhibit a greater proof of ſtupidity than our Welch bard has done, in taking the above paſſages ſeriouſly. Is the one counſellor a fool becauſe he is not a judge? Or the other a devil becauſe he has got Grim⯑bald's unfortunate phyz? And yet when the one ſets up for wiſdom and the other for beauty, a ſatiriſt need not be over and above ſplenetic, to call the one a booby and the other a deviliſh ugly fellow.
As a farther ſpecimen of the wretched Iines contained in the above-men⯑tioned execrably dull poem, the reader will pleaſe to take the following, which its author puts into the mouth of Roſcius.
Line 246. And hard labour it is too, Heaven knows: and what is ſtill worſe, it is likely, after all, to prove Labour-in-Vain!
Line 259. We ſhall not ſtand up for the cleanlineſs of Love in the Suds: the waſhing-tub, though a neceſſary implement to cleanlineſs, is itſelf a dirty ſubject, and we think the author did right, at any rate, to rid his hands of it. Should we recur, however, to the news-paper altercation it gave riſe to, we ſhall find the Monarch of Drury-lane, even then, more deeply intrenched on his throne of mud, than his antagoniſt, the Monarch of Fleet-ditch.
[20]Since the abdication of the latter, alſo, the cleanly Roſcius ſeems to have ſucceeded to his rival, and at preſent to poſſeſs the throne of both kingdoms; the publication before us being the third tributary pamphlet his mock majeſty has ſince received from his literary ſcavengers; who keep ſtill throwing dirt on the adverſary, notwithſtanding the proclama⯑tion of a peace. To preſerve the name of theſe ſtink-pots, would be do⯑ing too much honour to the wretches employed in ſuch dirty work; but leſt their exiſtence ſhould be doubted, we ſhall juſt mention their titles and authors. 1ſt, The Kenrickad, by that literary trollop, Mrs. Brokes. 2d, The Recantation, &c. by that filthy Yahoo, Paul Hiffernan. 3dly, Though laſt, not leaſt of this goodly trïo, the preſent Epiſtle, by that forgiving and forgetting Chriſtian Divine the Reverend Evan Lloyd, Maſter of Arts.
We cannot help thinking that theſe repeated attacks on the enemy, after having by agreement laid down his arms, would juſtify him in taking them up again. An authentic account of the riſe progreſs, and accommo⯑dation of the late diſpute between Dr. K. and Mr. G. ſeems indeed neceſſa⯑ry for the juſtification of both. For though the former hath fully excul⯑pated both himſelf and the latter, reſpecting the odious inſinuation, which various circumſtances unluckily contributed to caſt on him, he has left it ſtill extremely apparent, that a manager of a theatre may not be ad⯑dicted to a particular vice, and yet be notwithſtanding a very great raſcal.
Line 262. A beluted prince ſhould rather ſeem one upon whom dirt is thrown, than one accuſed of throwing, dirt.
Line 269. It was indeed but mere talk; his threats and vapouring being equally impudent and impotent. So far, indeed, was the god of our [21]parſon's idolatry, Mr. G. from chuſing to proceed in his ridiculous proſe⯑ſecution of the author of Love-in-the-Suds: whoſe poetical attack on him was merely laughable and ludicrous; that he thought proper to decline even the proſecution of the editor of Leap Frog, in which he had been ex⯑plicitly and directly charged with what the former lampoon was miſtakenly and falſely ſuppoſed to inſinuate.
It is, on the whole, peculiarly modeſt in our Welch Parſon, to reproach the author of Love-in-the-Suds for being a libeller; when he himſelf was not long ſince convicted in the court of King's-bench, and committed to the priſon of that court, accordingly, for writing a libel; a libel too of the moſt uncharitable and infamous kind, in a man of his ſacred function; being levelled at his neighbour, for exerciſing liberty of conſcience in matters of religion and morality. It was on this occaſion he obtained from [...] Mansfield the diſtinguiſhing appellation of THE WELCH PARSON.
Not that we mean, whatever his Lordſhip might do, to rouſe the blood of Cadwallader, by caſting any ungentlemanlike reflection on the country of Welch bards. At the ſame time, nevertheleſs, we have not the vanity to think we ſhall convict the preſent, of being the blockhead he really is, be⯑fore a jury of his own countrymen. The amor patriae, which burns in the breaſt of every ancient Briton will effectually prevent it; as we are con⯑vinced by a ſtory, once told us by a Welch judge; who, after ſumming up the evidence, againſt one of our author's nameſakes, accuſed of ſheep-ſtealing, was anſwered pithily and pertinently by the foreman of the jury, as follows: ‘Your Lortſhip need not taak ſo much trouple, as we ſhall find the pris'ner not guilty; hur na [...]me is Lloyd, and there never was a Lloyd hang'd for ſheep-taaking in our time, nor, py cot, ever ſhall, ſo long as we are 'pon the chury!’
[22]Line 277. Candour obliges us to do juſtice to our author, in anſwer to the impertinent cenſures of the Monthly and Critical reviews; the editors of which, will next month proceed to take him to taſk in the manner fol⯑lowing: ‘What a wiſe-acre is this Welch bard, to ſuppoſe that the ſun ſhoots its rays from Sirius, i. e. the dog-ſtar, to the earth; when it is well known that Sirius is 27664 times farther from us than the ſun, and that the fixed ſtars ſhine with their own, and not a borrowed light. Our poetical divine, though born and bred on the mountains of Wales, whence he might be ſuppoſed to have acquired a nearer acquaintance with the heavens, ſhews himſelf to be very ignorant of the ſcience of aſtronomy. We would, therefore, recommend him to the peruſal of Ptolomy, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, Ricciolus, Caſſini, De la Hire, and above all, our learned countrymen Flamſtead and Sir Iſaac Newton.’
With humble ſubmiſſion, however, to Goody Griffith and the Hodman⯑dod, who may have read all the above authors (that is, the names of them, in Tom Davies's catalogue) our poet may know as much of aſtronomy as they do of criticiſm. It is true that by Sc [...]ra, as it was called by the Arabs, [...] by the Greeks, and Sirius among the Latins, is uſually meant a ſtar of the firſt magnitude in the mouth of Canis major. It is of this ſtar, as the ſcholiaſts tell us, that Virgil ſpeaks, in the third book of his Aeneid, Steriles exurit Sirius agros; and Lucan, Sirius exerit ignes rabidos. Again, nothing is more common with our Engliſh poets, than to tell us, after the ſummer ſol⯑ſtice, that Sirius the dog-ſtar rages. But notwithſtanding all this, our au⯑thor ſeems to have the advantage of the reviewers; for though the beſt au⯑thors mean by Sirius, the dog-ſtar, ſome of the worſt (as we are told by He⯑ſychius the lexicographer, or Heſychius the monk, for having neither, I can⯑not poſitively tell which) ſometimes means by Sirius the Sun. Now, though our author ſeems to have betrayed a want of taſte and diſcernment, in adopting the unclaſſical practice of the corrupt ages of Latinity, yet we ſay he ſhould not be cenſured for reading bad Latin books, inſtead of good ones, by criticks, who never were capable of reading any at all, good, bad or in⯑different.
[23]Line 290. By literary gnats, our author is ſuppoſed to mean thoſe trou⯑bleſome ſcribblers, that ſo conſtantly annoy his friend Roſcius in the Lon⯑don and Whitehall evening poſts, together with thoſe in the few morning papers which are not under the management of the manager.
Line 291. By theatric beatles are ſuppoſed to be meant the proprietors and all the players of Covent-Garden theatre; together with thoſe even of Drury-lane, who do not ſacrifice to Moloch, and bow the knee to Baal. By be-doctor'd bats are evidently meant thoſe two ignorant and illiterate blockheads Doctor Samuel Johnſon and Doctor William Kenrick, not omitting perhaps even that mirrour of doctorſhip, Scriblerius Flagellarius ourſelf; inferior to nei⯑ther Buſbeius, Bentleius, Budeus, Ruaeus, nor any other flagellator, ancient or modern. We would therefore adviſe this truant divine to mend his man⯑ners, reſtrain his petulance, and kiſs the rod of our correction; leſt he pro⯑voke a heavier chaſtiſement, and from hi preſent inanity, ſink into ſtill leſs than nothing, beneath the weight of our caſtigation.