Ye writers of what none with safety reads, Footing it in the dance that Fancy leads; Ye novelists, who mar what you would mend Sniv'lling and driv'lling folly without end; Whose corresponding misses fill the ream With sentimental frippery and dream, Caught in a delicate soft silken net By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet : Ye pimps, who under virtue's fair pretence, Steal to the closet of young innocence, And teach her, inexperienced yet and green, To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen; Who kindling a combustion of desire, With some cold moral think to quench the fire; Though all your engineering proves in vain, The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again: O that a verse had power, and could command Far, far away these flesh-flies of the land; Who fasten without mercy on the fair, And suck, and leave a craving maggot there! Howe'er disguised th' inflammatory tale, And covered with a fine-spun specious veil; Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust And relish of their pleasure all to lust. But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view A quarry more important still than you; Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away, Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. Petronius! all the Muses weep for thee; But every tear shall scald thy memory; Now, while the poison all high life pervades, From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home; Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbé Remarks two loiterers, that have lost their way; And being always primed with politesse Strange the recital! from whatever cause His great improvement and new light he draws, The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, But teems with powers he never felt before: Whether increased momentum, and the force, With which from clime to clime he sped his course (As axles sometimes kindle as they go), Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow; Or whether clearer skies and softer air, That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, Fresh'ning his lazy spirits as he ran, Unfolded genially and spread the man; Returning he proclaims by many a grace, By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home. Accomplishments have taken virtue's place And wisdom falls before exterior grace : We slight the precious kernel of the stone, And toil to polish its rough coat alone. A just deportment, manners graced with ease, Elegant phrase, and figure formed to please. Are qualities, that seem to comprehend Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend; Hence an unfurnished and a listless mind, Though busy, trifling; empty, though refined; Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way. A critic on the sacred book should be How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, fell, Diffused, make Earth the vestibule of Hell; Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise; Thou ever bubbling spring of endless lies; Like Eden's dread probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest, Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. Philosophers, who darken and put out Eternal truth by everlasting doubt; Church quacks, with passions under no command, Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, Discoverers of they know not what, confined Within no bounds the blind that lead the blind; To streams of popular opinion drawn, Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, Pois'ning the waters where their swarms abound. Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholesome The propagated myriads spread so fast, [food. E'en Lewenhoeck himself would stand aghast, Employ'd to calculate th' enormous sum, And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. Is this hyperbole? The world well known, Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. Fresh confidence the speculatist takes From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes; And therefore prints. Himself but half deceived, Till others have the soothing tale believed. Hence comment after comment, spun as fine As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line. Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey, Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, Hebrew or Syriac shall be forced to bend: If languages and copies all cry, NoSomebody proved it centuries ago. Like trout pursued, the critic in despair Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. Woman, whom custom has forbid to fly The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why), |