ACCOMMODATION, &c.
[1]CONDESCENSION in the muſe
Severeſt critics will excuſe;
Condeſcenſion in the man
Is the ſkilful, winning, plan:
By condeſcenſion, here, I mean
Accommodation in the ſcene
Of life.—Will A---y condeſcend
To view the trifler in the friend;
[2]
That friend who ever has, and will
Protect his character from ill;
Give up life,—all fancy's power,
To cheer his every anxious hour?
Then ſurely A---y can't refuſe
The whimſeys of a flighty muſe.
A bland, goodnatur'd, muſe that muſt
Protect the good,—the great,—the juſt;
Protect the wiſe,—protect the brave,—
All,—All,—but coward, fool, and knave:
And cowards, fools, and knaves ſhall be
The objects of her charity.
Then A---y ſurely will excuſe
An idle, truant, laughing muſe;
[3]
A muſe that ever will incline
To favour A---y with a line;—
—His gentleneſs can ne'er refuſe
The fondly,—overweening muſe;
That oft in perſon will attend him,
And counſel quaint will freely lend him:
Then A---y never can refuſe
The gambols of this frolic muſe.
How!—ſays, Sir critic;—not to brand
With infamy the murdering hand;
And every character that can
Sink to the brute from reaſoning man!
—Avaunt raſh criticiſm!—Learn ye!
He ſerv'd his time to vile attorney;
[4]
And vile attorneys ne'er can be
Fit ſubjects for a laſh from thee:
—We then ſhould too much condeſcend.—
What!—Give our ſatire for no end!
No!—Let him canter o'er the hill
Of wild Parnaſſus with his quill;
And ſtumble on without a note
From us, who think and write by rote.
The conſcious muſe, in native charms,
Laughs,—'till ſhe burſts,—at ſuch alarms;
Dares every critic to defiance,
—She never wiſhes ſuch alliance;
Dares every critic with a frown,—
To laud her,—up; to blaſt her,—down.
[5]
With indignation now ſhe burns,
And gladly to that friend returns;—
Who gave her, with a gentle hand,
And feeling heart, each ſweet command:—
What to embrace,—and what to fly
During her term of ſlavery.
Kind,—gentle ſpirit!—yet e'en he
Can ſcarce eſcape ſeverity;
Whoſe noble mind,—and ſwelling heart,
Their virtues cheerfully impart
TO MAN AT LARGE:—without a dream
Of ſelf's attractive,—darling theme;
That luſcious,—dear,—engaging thing,
Which ſways alike the clown,—the king;—
[6] At every place,—at every hour,—
Gives ſtrange exemplars of it's power.
The cheerful reader too 'll excuſe
The queer digreſſions of the muſe;
And give her credit for awhile
For every laugh,—for every ſmile;—
Which ſhe engages to exert,—
Neither too timorous,—nor pert;
As opportunity permits,—
And ſhe can ſtrike ſome lucky hits.
Her firſt eſſay;—and all her own.
—Sir critic, fy!—ſuppreſs that frown!—
[7] —Solicits favor, from—
—A FRIEND:—
And, if ſhe meet with his applauſe,
Will lengthen out her little cauſe:—
—By daring, in ſome future plan,
* To analyze that creature man;
Whether in poetry, or proſe,
Is inſignificant to thoſe,
Who think,—who act,—from nature's ſchool,
And never idly play the fool:—
—As whilom THOMAS often did,
Without his ever being chid;—
Except by ſuch,—as never knew,
Skilful to give the fineſpun clew
[8] To mild converſion's calm retreat;—
—Where all the muſes,—graces meet;—
And every ghoſt,—and every ſhade,
Of GODLIKE MAN,—that GOD has made:
Midſt ſcenes of wildeſt diſſipation loſt;—
His ſenſibility too often croſt;—
Thro' the kindlieſt warmth of blood,
Deſerting every ſocial good:
This, and that, perverſe vexation
Springing all from circulation
Of boiling blood,—thro' every vein
Quick-trembling to it's ſource again,—
The heart;—whence every rapture flows
For every good, which it beſtows
On kindred man:—without a thought
Of being aſk'd for,—being ſought.
[9]
Spite of all the rage of faſhion,—
Spite of every wayward paſſion,—
Spite of nature's oppoſition;—
He means to make a ſtrange tranſition
From bad to good;—offhand reclaim
Each immoral, youthful aim;
And ſtranger ſtill!—for quirking ſeats
Barter the muſe's green retreats.
Hold!—cries, dame prudence;—hold your hand
And liſten to this ſage command.—
Beware, young man!—with caution rove
O'er legal bank,—thro' quibbling grove;—
Let law, and reaſon,—PRUDENCE join;—
Then, then! you ſtrike a good deſign.
[10]
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Curſe on your tame,—your frigid notions
And all ſuch quack,—cathartic potions.
The GOD OF NATURE gave us paſſions,—
To grace us with on all occaſions;
And gave us reaſon to control
The frantic ſallies of the ſoul.
Paſt follies!—Nature ought to bear,
And think him highly worth her care.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
[11]
With all his faults,—and all his folly,
He's freed at length from MELANCHOLY;
And her attendant,—APATHY.—
—Dull,—cynic apathy!—whoſe boaſt,
And blunted praiſe is always loſt,—
By ſeldom thinking,—never acting;—
And yet it ever ſeems tranſacting.
A mere machine,—we uſe at will,
And keep it going on,—or ſtill,
As fancy leads:—a moping jade;—
A piece of clockwork,—only made
For keeneſt cuts of comic wit,—
Juſt when my lady's in the fit
To flouriſh o'er wild nature's page,
And ſtamp the wretch of every age.
[12]
The cruel critics ſtill abuſe
The whimſical,—meandrous muſe;—
Without one ſocial feeling dare
To blaſt my firſt,—my only care;
And dully criticiſing ſay;—
The pillars, when they artleſs lay,
The ſuperſtructure muſt betray:—
Quickly the caſtle's undermin'd
And by a trifling gale of wind.
So fare the laurel and the bays
Of ſuch a rhymeſter's jingling lays;—
—His canting,—puling,—lukewarm,—
The brawling brats of coldeſt climes,—
The laurel claim and blooming bays,
Without the leaſt pretence to praiſe:—
[13] —Let gentleſt breezes gently come,
They ſhake his high-aſpiring plume,—
Which trembling drops,—without a tear
From us who give him,—every fear.
And now, AERIAL GENIUS!—now
Stoop to my muſe,—ſhe'll teach you, how
To ſweep the ſkilful,—winning bow.
Bend genius,—bend!—accept this new,—
This grand,—accommodating clew;
—Nobly defend the muſe's claim
A mirthful muſe's honeſt aim.—
[14] —And when dull apathiſts perceive
That you the myſtic muſe can believe;—
They'll crawl it on,—in faith with you,
And own themſelves high-honoured too.—
—Let but the lower ranks comply,—
You'll have the muſe's leave to fly,—
And ſoar it to your native ſky.
Firſt let the towering genius dare
To make high worth his conſtant care;—
Next let the towering genius bend
To make each honeſt heart,—his friend.
And never think it worth his part
To court the head without the heart:—
[15] —We grant,—that where they kindly meet,
The union forms an higher treat:—
But a good heart,—the deity will own,—
Far,—far excels,—the merely laurel'd crown.