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Yes, Andrews' dorgrel, Greathead's idiot line, Who Anna's bedlam rant for sense can take,
And Morton's catchword, all, forsooth, divine ! And over* Edwin's mewlings keep awake ;

F. "Tis well. Here let th' indignant stricture
And LEEDS at length enjoy his fool in peace.

* Edwin's meulings,&c.-We come now to a character

of high respect, the profound Mr. T. Vaughan, who, under P. Come then, around their works a circle

the alluring signature of Edwin, favours us from time to draw,

time with a melancholy poem on the death of a bug, the And near it plant the dragons of the law,

flight of an earwig, the miscarriage of a cockchaffer, or With labels writ, “ Critics, far hence remove, some other event of equal importance. Nor dare to censure what the great approve."

His last work was an Emiradlov, (blessings on his learnI go. Yet Hall could lash with noble rage

ing!) which, I take for granted, means an epitaph, on a The purblind patron of a former age ;

mouse that broke her heart: and, as it was a matter of And laugh to scorn th' eternal sonneleer,

great consequence, he very properly made the introduc

tion as long as the poem itself. Hear how gravely he Who made goose pinions and white rags so dear.

prologiseth. Yet Oldham, in his rude, un polish'd strain,

" On a tame mouse, which belonged to a lady ucho sared Could hiss the clamorous, and deride the vain, its life, constantly fed il, and eren wept, poor lady ) Who bawl'd their rhymes incessant through the at its approuching death. The mouse's eyes actually town,

dropped out of its hcal (poor mouse !) THE DAY BEFORE Or bribed the hawkers for a day's renown.

IT DIED." Whate'er the theme, with honest warmth they

Επιταφιον. .

" This feeling mouse, whose heart was warm'd wrote, Nor cared what Mutius of their freedom thought;

By pity's purest ray,

Because her mistress dropt a tear, Yet prose was venial in that happy time,

Wept both her eyes away. And life had other business than to rhyme.

“By sympathy deprived of light, And may not 1-now this pernicions pest,

She one day darkness tried ; This metromania, creeps through every breast;

The grateful tear no more could flow, Now fools and children void their brains by loads,

So liked it not, and died. And itching grandams spawl lascivious odes;

"May we, when others weep for us, Now lords and dukes, cursed with a sickly taste,

The debt with interest pay

And, when the generous fonts are dry, While Burns' pure healthful nurture runs to

Revert to native clay.”Edvin. wasie, Lick up the spitile of the bed-rid muec,

Mr. T. Vaughan has asserted that he is not the author

of this matchless E-1 Tablov with such spirit, and retort. And riot on the sweepings of the stews;

ed upon one Baviad (whoin the learned gentleman takes Say, may not I expose

to be a man) with such strength of argument and elegance F. No—'tis unsafe ;

of diction, that it would wrong both him and the reader Prudence, my friend.

to give it in any words hut his own. P. What! not deride ? not laugh?

“Well said, Baviad the correct !-And so the PROFOUN) Well! thought at least is free

Mr. T. Vaughan, as you politely style him, writes under

the alluring signature of Edwin, does he ? and therefore F. O yet forbear.

a very proper subject for your satiric malignity!-But P. Nay, then, I'll dig a pit, and bury there

suppose for a moment, as the truth and the fact is, that The dreadful truth which so alarms thy fears : this gentleman never did use that signature upon any THE TOWN, THE TOWN, GOOD PIT, HAS ASSES' occasion, in whatever he may have written: Do not you, EARS!

the identical Baviad, in that case, for your unprovoked Thou think’st, perhaps, this wayward fancy strange; abuse of him, immediately fall under your own character So think thou still : yet would not I exchange

of that nightman of literature you so liberally assign

Weston ? And like him, too, if there is any truth ia The secret humour of this simple hit

what you say or write, do you not For all the Albums that were ever writ.

**Swell like a filthy toad with secret spite ?' Of this, no more.–O THOU, (if yet there be One bosom from this vile infection free,)

" The ayes have it. And should you not be as well Thou who canst thrill with joy, or glow with ire,

versed in your favourite author's fourth satire, as you

are in the first, with your leave, I will quote from it two As the great masters of the song inspire,

emphatic lines: Canst bend enraptured o'er the magic page,

"Into themselves how sew, how few descend, Where desperate ladies desperate lords engage,

And act, at home, the free, impartial friend! Gnomes, sylphs, and gods the fierce contention None see their own, but all, with ready eye, share,

The pendent wallet on a neighbour spy; And heaven and earth hang trembling on a hair:

And like a Baviad will recount his shame, Canst quake with horror, while Emilia's charms,

Tacking his very errors to his name.'

Oracle, 12th Jan." Against a brother point a brother's arms;

And to whose name should they be tacked, but the auAnd trace the fortune of the varying fray,

thor's ? Let not the reader, however, imagine the absurdWhile hour on hour flits unperceived away ity to proceed from Persius, or his ingenious translator. Approach : 'twixt hope and fear I wait. O deign “ The truth and the fact is," that our learned brother, To cast a glance on this incondite strain :

having a small change to make in the last two lines, Here, if thou find one thought but well express’d, blundered them, with his usual acuteness, into nonsense. One sentence higher finish'd than the rest,

He is not much more happy when he accuses me of call Such as may win ihee to proceed a while,

ing WESTON “the nightman of literature."--But when

a gentleman does not know what he writes, it is a little And smooth ihy forehead with a gracious smile

hard to expect him to know what he reads.

After all, I ask no more, but far from me the throng

Edwin or not, our egregious friend is still the PROFOUND Who fancy fire in Laura's vapid song ;

Mr. T. Vaughan.

Yes, far from me, whate'er their birth or place, lists* by the reappearance of some of the scattered
These long-ear'd judges of the Phrygian race ; enemy.
Their censure and their praise alike I scorn, It was not enough that the stream of folly Nowed
And hate the laurel by their followers worn! more sparingly in the Oracle than before; I was
Let such (a task congenial to their powers)

At sales and auctions waste the morning hours, “ To have the current in that place damm'd up;"
While the dull noon away in Rumford's fane,
And snore the evening out at Drury-lane.

and accordingly began the present poem-for which, indeed, I had by this time other reasons. I had been told that there were still a few admirers of the Cruscan school, who thought the contempt ex

pressed for it was not sufficiently justified by the THE MAEVIA D.

few passages produced in the Baviad. I thought

it best, therefore, to exhibit the tribe of Bell once Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina, Mævi. more ; and, as they passed in review before me, to

make such additional extractst from their works, INTRODUCTION.

as should put their demerits beyond the power of In the INTRODUCTION to the preceding pages, a

future question. brief account is given of the rise and progress of

I remembered that this great critic, in his excelihat spurious species of poetry which lately infest- lent remarks on the Baviad, had charged the author ed this metropolis, and gave occasion to the Bavian. with“ bespattering nearly all the poetical eminence

I was not ignorant of what I exposed myself 10 of the day.” Anxious, therefore, to do impartial hy the publication of that work. If abuse could justice, I ran for the ALBUM, to discover who had have affected me, I should not probably have made been spared. Here I read, “ In this collection are a set of people my enemies, habituated to ill lan- names whom genius will ever look upon as its best gnage, and possessed of such convenient vehicles* supporters! Sheridan"- what, is · Saul also among for iis dissemination. But I never regarded it from the prophets!—“Sheridan, Merry, Parsons, Cowley, such hands, and, indeed, deprecated nothing but Andrews, Jerningham, Greathead, Topham, Robintheir praise. I respect, in common with every man son,” &c. of sense, the censure of the wise and good ; but the

Thus furnished with “ ALL the poetical eminence angry ebullions of folly unmasked, and vanity of the day,” I proceeded, as Mr. Bell says, to bemortified, pass by me" like the idle wind,” or, if spatter it; taking, for the vehicle of my design, a noticed, serve merely to grace succceding editions satire of Horace-to which I was led by its supply. of the Baviad.

iug me (amid many happy allusions) with an opI confess, however, that the work was received portunity of briefly noticing the wretched state of more favourably than I expected. Bell, indeed, dramatic poetry among us.f and a few oilers, whose craft was touched, vented their indignation in prose and verse ; but, on the

* I hope no one will do me the injustice to suppose that whole, the clamour against me was not loud, and I imagine myself another Hercules contending with hy. was los: by insensible degrees in the applauses of dras, &c. Far from it. My enemies cannot well have such as I was truly ambitious to please.

an humbler opinion of me than I have of myself; and yet, Thus supported, the good effects of the satire (glo-" if I am not ashamed of them, I am a soused gurnet." riose loquior) were not long in manifesting them. Mere pecora inertia! The contest is without danger, selves. Della Crusca appeared no more in the Ora and the victory without glory. At the same time, I de

clare against any undue advantage being taken of these cle, and, if any of his followers ventured to treat concessions. Though I knew the impotence of these the town with a soft sonnet, it was noi, as before, literary Askaparts, the town did not; and many a man, introduced by a pompons preface. Pope and Mil- who now affecis to pity me for wasting my strength upon lun resumed their superiority; and Este and his imresisting imbecility, would, not long since, have heard coadjutors silently acquiesced in the growing opi- their poems with applause, and their praises with delight. nion of their incompetency, and showed some sense

+ It will now be said that I have done it usque ad nau. of shame.

seam. I confess it; and for the reason given above.

And yet I can honestly assure the reader, that most, if With this I was satisfied. I had taken up my pen not all, of the trash here quoted, passed with the authors for no other end, and was quietly retiring, with the for superlative beauties, every second word being printed idea that I had “done the state some service," and either in italics or capitals. purposing to abandon for ever the cæstus, which a II know not if the stage has been so low, since the days respectable critic fencies I wielded “ with too much of Gammer Gurton, as at this hour. It seems as if all the severity,” when I was once more called into the blockheads in the kingdom had started up, and exclaimed,

with one voice, Come! let us write for the theatres. In

this there is nothing, perhaps, altogether new; the strik. * Most of these fashionable writers were connected ing and peculiar novelty of the times seems to be, that with the public prints, Della Crusca was a worthy coadjutor of the mad and malignant idiot who conducted cerned in this business, the writers and the managers

ALL1 they write is received. Of the three parties conthe World. Arno and Lorenzo were either proprietors

seem the least culpable. If the town will feed on husks, as editors of another paper. Edwin and Anna Matilda extraordinary pains need not be taken to find them any were favoured contributors to several; and Laura Maria, thing more palatable. But what shall we say of the from the sums squandered on puffs, could command a corner in all. This wretched woman, indeed, in the people? The lower orders are so brutified loy the lamentawine of her beauty, fell into merited poverty, exchanged

II recollect but two exceptions. Merry's idiotical opera, and Mrs. Ro. petry for politics, and wrote abusive trash against the government, at the rate of two guineas a week, for the ceeded, argues a degree of stupidity scarcely credible. Surely ignorance Morning Post

itself is a planet" over the heroes and heroines of the Baviad,

P 2

binson's more idiotical farce. To have failed where Miles Andrews suc.

When the MÆViad, so I call the present poem, That Arno's " easy strains" were coarse and rough, was nearly brought to a conclusion, I laid it aside. And Edwin's “ matchless numbers" woful stuff. The times seemed unfavourable to such produc- And who-forgive, O gentle Bell, the word, tions. Events of real importance were momenta. For it must out—who, prithee, so absurd, rily claiming the attention of the public, and the So mulishly absurd, as not to join still voice of the muses was not likely to be listened In this with me, save always thee and THINE? to amid the din of arms. After an interval of two Yet still, the soul of candour! I allow'd years, however, circumstances, which it is not Their jingling elegies amused the crowd ; material to mention, have induced me to finish, and That lords hung blubbering o'er each woful line, trust it, without more preface, to the candour to That lady-critics wept, and cried." divine!" which I am already so highly indebted for the kind That love-lorn priests reclined the pensive head, reception of the Baviad.

And sentimental ensigns, as they read,

Wiped the sad drops of pity from their eye, Yes, I did say that Crusca's* “ true sublime”

And burst between a hiccup and a sigh. Lack'd taste, and sense, and every thing but rhyme ; Yet, not content, like horse-leeches they come,

And split my head with one eternal hum ble follies of O'Keefe, and Cobbe, and Pilon, and I know For“ more! more! more!" Away! for should I grant not who-Sardi venales, each worse than the other. The full, the unreserved applause ye want, that they have lost all relish for simplicity and genuine St. John* might then my partial voice accuse, humour; nay, ignorance itself, unless it be gross and And claim my suffrage for his tragic musc; glaring, cannot hope for “their most sweet voices."

And Greathead,t rising from his short disgrace, And the higher ranks are so mawkishly mild, that they take with a placid simper whatever comes before them;

Fling the forgotten Regent" in my face, or, if they now and then experience a slight fit of disgust, have not resolution enough to express it, but sit yawning man in the present instances, yet I observe such acuteand gaping in each other's faces for a little encourage- ness of perception in his general criticism, that I should ment in their culpable forbearance.

have styled him the “profound" instead of the “gentle" When this was written, I thought the town had" sound. Bell, if I had not previously applied the epithet to a still ed," as Shakspeare says, “ the very bass string of humi- greater man, (absit invidia dicto,) to—Mr. T. Vaughan. lity;" but it has since appeared, that the lowest point of I trust that this incidental preference will create no degradation had not then been reached. The force of jealousy-for though, as Virgil properly remarks, "an English flly, indeed, could go no farther, and so far I naken staff each merits,” yet I need not inform a gentle. was right; but the auxiliary supplies of Germany were man, who, like Mr. Bell, reads Shakspeare every day at hand, and the taste, vitiated by the lively nonsense of after dinner, that " if two men ride upon a horse, one of O'Keefe and Co., was destined to be utterly destroyed by them must ride behind." successive importations of the heavy, lumbering, mono

* St. John, &c. Having already observed in the Introtonous stupidity of Kotzebue and Schiller.

duction, that the Mæviad was nearly finished two years The object of these writers has been detailed with such since, and consequently before the death of this genileforce and precision in the introduction to“The Rovers,” man, I have only to add here, that though I should not that nothing remains to be said on that head-indeed the have introduced any of the heroes of the Baviad, quorum simple perusal of “ The Roverg” would supersede the Flaminia tegitur cinis, atque Latina, yet I scarcely think necessity of any critique on the merits of the German it necessary to make any changes for the sake of omitdrama in general; since there is not a folly, however ting such as have passed ad plures, in the interval between gross, an absurdity, however monstrous, to be found in

writing and publishing. that charming jeu d'esprit, that I would not undertake to

The reader will find, p. 181, another instance of my parallel from one or other of the most admired works of small pretensions to prophecy, and probably regret it the German Shakspeares.. Why it has not been produced more than the present. on the stage is to me a matter of astonishment, since it

+ Greathead's Regent.-Of this tragerly, which was unites the beauties of " The Stranger" “Pizarro;" and, though perfectly German in its sentiments, is Eng, and others, as “the work of a scuoLAR," I want words to

“recommended to the worlul" by the monthly reviewers lish in its language-intelligible English ; which is infi. nitely more than can be said of the translation from

express my just contempt. The plot of it is childish, 'he

conduct absurd, the language unintelligible, the thoughts Kotzebue, so maliciously attributed to Mr. Sheridan. In a word, if you take from the German dramas their

false and unnatural, the metaphors incongruous, the horrid blasphemies, their wanton invocations of the sa: general style grovelling and base; and, to sum up all in cred Name, and their minute and ridiculous stage direc

a word, the whole piece the most execrable abortion of tions, which seem calculated to turn the whole into a

stupidity that ever disgraced the stage.

It is to be wished that critics by profession, sensible of pantomime, nothing will remain but a caput mortuum, a

the influence which their opinions necessarily have on vapid and gloomy mass of matter, unenlightened by a single ray of genius or nature. If you leave them their ities when they sit down to the execution of, what I hope

the public taste, would divest themselves of their partial. blasphemies, &c., you have then a nameless something, they consider as, a solemn duty. We should not then insipid though immoral, tedious though impious, and stupid though extravagant !--80 much so, that, as a judicious find them, as in the present instance, prostituting their writer well observes,“ it becomes a doubt which are the applause on works that call for universal reprobation. greatest objects of contempt and scorn, those who con added his all-sufficient suffrage in that of the reviewers,

It is but fair, however, to observe, that Mr. Parsons has ceived and wrote them, or those who have the effrontery in favour of Mr. Greathead. to praise them." Yet“ these be thy gods, O Israel !" and to these are sacrificed our taste, our sense, and our na

“O bard! to whom belongs tional honour.

Each purest fount of poesy! * Crusca's "true sublime.” The words between in

Who old Ilyssus' hallow'd dews

In his own Avon dare infuse. verted commas in this and the following verses, are Mr.

O favour'd clime! O happy nge! Bell's. They contain, as the reader sees, a short cha

That boasts, to save a sinking siage, racter of the works to which they are respectively affixed. Though I have the misfortune to differ from this gentle. When I first read these, and other high sounding praises,

A Greathead!!!"- Gent. Mag. 1 So Kotzebue and Schiller are styled by the critical reviewers. scattered over reviews, magazines, newspapers, and I

Bid me my censure, as I may, deplore,

'Tis not enough 10 dole out Abs! and Ohs! And, like my brother critics, cry “ Encore !" Through Kemble's thorax, or through Bensley's Alas: my learned friends, for such ye are,

nose, As Bell will say, or, if ye ask it, swear;

To crowd our stage with scaffolds, or to fright Tis not enough, though this be somewhat too, Our wives with rapes, repeated thrice a night; And more, perhaps,* than Jerningham can do, JUDGES—Not such as, self-created, sit

On that TREMENDOUS Bench* which skirts the pit, know not what, I was naturally led to conclude that Mr. Where idle Thespis nods, while Arnot dreams G. had succeeded better in his smaller pieces than in his Of Nereids “ purling in ambrosial streams ;" tragedy, and thus justified in some degree the cry of his Where Este in rapture cons fantastic airs, " learning," &c. &c. But no-all was a blank !

“Old Pistol new revived" in Topham stares, Here are a few samples of the “llyssean dews infused ly Mr. Greathead into his own Avon"-muddied, I sup- Johnson's worst frailties, rolls from side to side,

And Boswell, aping, with preposterous pride, poise, and debased by the home-bred streamlet of one Shakspeare.

His heavy head from hour to hour erects,
“In fuller presence we descry,

Affects the fool, and is what he affects.
Mid mountain rocks-a deity

JUDGES of truth and sense, yet more demand
Than eye of man shall e'er behold

That art to nature lend a helping hand !
In living grace of sculptured gold."':

That fables well devised be simply told,
More matter for a May morning!

Correct if new, and probable if old. *ODB ON APATHY.

When Mason leads Elfrida forth to view, " Accursed be dull lethargic Apathy,

Adorn'd with virtues which she never knew,
Whether at ere she listless ride

I feel for every tear; while, borne along
In sluggish car by tortoise drawn-
With mimic air of senseless pride,

By the full tide of unresisted song,
She feebly throws on all her withering sight,

I stop not to inquire if all be just,
While to observant of her sway,

But take her goodness, as her grief, on trust,
Unmark'd her droning subjects lie,

Till calm reflection checks me, and I see
Alike to her who murmur or obey."

The heroine as she was, and ought to be ;
I hope the reader understands it.

A bold, bad woman, wading to the throne “ ODE TO DUEL.

Through seas of blood, and crimes till then un** Never didst thou appear

known: While Tibur's sons gave law to all the world;

Then, then I hate the magic that deceived,
Yet much they loved to desolate and slaughter.

And blush to think how fondly I believed.)
Carthage! ailest my words.
To glut their sanguinary rage,
Not citizens but gladiators fall.
Slavery and vasgalage,

There is a trait of scholarship in Mr. Jerningham's last And sayage broils 'twixt nobles are no more.

poem, which should not be overlooked; more especially Vanish thou likewise"

as it is the only one. Having occasion to mention “Agave And these are odes, good heavens! “After the manner

and her infant,"'1 he subjoins the following explanation : of Pindar," I take for granted.

“Alluding to Agave, who in a delirium slew her child. Enough of Mr. Greathead. I have only to add, that I See Ovid." No, I'll take Mr. Jerningham's word for it, am aciuated by no personal dislike ; for I can say with though I had twenty Ovids before me. truth, (what, indeed, I can of all the heroes of the Mæviad,) * When this was written, which was while the Opera that I have not the slightest knowledge of him. But the House was used for plays, the “learned justices" hero dans have strutted too long : it is more than time to strip enumerated, together with the others not yet taken, were them of their adventitious plumage ; and if, in doing it, I accustomed to flock nightly to this BENCH, from which should pluck off any feathers which originally belonged the unlettered vulgar were always scornfully repelled to them, they have only to thank their own vanity, or the with an ovdeus apovoos. forwardness of their injudicious friends.

I have not heard whether the New Theatre be possessed • And mire, perhaps, than Jerningham can do. No; of such a one ; I think not; for critics are no more greDr. Jerningham has lately written a tragedy and a farce; garious than spiders. Like them, they might do great both extremely well spoken of by the reviewers, and both things in concert; but, like them too, they usually end gone to the "pastry-cooks."

with devouring one another. I once thought that I understood something of faces, + Arno.-The dreams of this gentleman, which continue bat I must read my Lavater again, I find. That a gentle. lo make their appearance in the Oracle, under the name ran with the " physiognomie d'un mouton qui rêve” should of Thespis, are not always of Nereidls. He dreamed one, saidenly start forth a new Tyrtæus, and pour a dreadful night that Mr. Pope played Posthumus with less spirit Date through a cracked war-trump, amazes me.- Well, than usual, and it was Mr. Johnston singing GrammaFRONTI NTLLA FIDES shall henceforth be my motto. chree! Another night, that the Mourning Bride might

In the pride of his heart Mr. Jerningham has taken the have been better cast, and lo! it was the Comedy of instrument from his mouth, and given me a smart stroke Errors that was played. on the head with it: this is fair,

This was rather unfortunate ; but the reader must have *Cædimus, inque vicem præbemus crura sagittis." already reflected, from the strange occupations of these He has also levelled a deadly blow at a gentleman who, self-created judges,” (here faithfully described,) that Focst assuredly, never dreamed of having our Drawcansir sleeping or waking, they were attentive to every thing for an antagonist: this, though not quite so fair, is not

but what passed before their eyes. altogether unprecedented;

Pauper videri cotta vult, et est pauper! * An eagle, towering in his pride of place,

& Mr. Parsons' note on this passage is—“Did you BEWas by a mousing owl hawk'd at !"

LIEVE ? could you possibly be so ignorant ?"-Even go.

But I humbly conceive that Mr. Mason, who seduced 1 "These liner (Mr. Parsons sys) are not Greathead's." But they are my unsuspecting youth, is equally culpable with myself bablished with bis name in the Album; which, exclusive of their stupidity, is mint authority for me. If our doughty critic chooses to take them to anel, I can bare no objection; for, after all, pugna est de paupere regno !

1 See his "Peace, Iguominy, and Destruction," p. 15.

Not so, when Edgar,* made, in some strange plot, Forbid it, inspiration! Thus your pain
The hero of a day that knew him not,

Is void, and ye have lived, for them, in vain; Struts from the field his enemy had won,

In vain for Crusca and his skipping school, On stately stilts, exulting and undone !

Cobbe, Reynolds, Andrews, and that nobler fool; Here I can only pity, only smile ;

Who naught but Laura's* tinkling trash admire, Where not one grnce, one elegance of style, And the mad jangle of Matilda's* lyre. Redeems th' audacious folly of the rest, Truth sacrificed, and history made a jest.

* Laura's tinkling trash, &c.-1 had amassed a world Let this, ye Cruscans,t if your heads be made

of this “tinkling trash" for the behoof of the reader, but “Of penetrable stuff," let this persuade

having, fortunately for him, mislaid it, and nut being Your husky tribes their wanderings to restrain, disposed to undertake again the drudgery of wailing Nor hope what taste and Mason fail'd to gain. through Mr. Bell's collections, I can only offer the little

Then let your style be brief, your meaning clear, which occurs to my memory. Of this little, ihe merits Nor, like Lorenzo,t tire the labouring ear

must be principally shared among Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. With a wild waste of words ; sound without sense, Cowley, and Mr. Merry; And all the florid glare of impotence.

"Et vos, O Lauri, carpam, et te, proxima Myrte, Still with your characters your language change,

Sic positie quoniam suaves miscetis odores."

1-O let me fly From grave to gay, as nature dictates, range;

Where Greenland darkness drinks the beamy sky;" Now droop in all the plaintiveness of wo,

“But O! beware how thou dust fling Now in glad numbers light and airy flow;

Thy hot pulse o'er the quivering string !" Now shake the stage with guilt's alarming tone,

“Pluck from their dark and rocky bed And make the aching bosom all your own;

The yelling demons of the deep, Now -But I sing in vain ; from first to last

Who, soaring o'er the comet's head, Your joy is susiian, and your grief bombast :

The bosom of the welkin sweep." Rhetoric has banish'd reason ; kings and queens “And when the jolly full moon laughs, Vent in hyberboles their royal spleens ;

In her clear zenith to behold Guardsmen in metaphors express their hopes,

The envious stars withdraw their gleams of gold, And “ maidens in white linen,” howl in tropes.

'Tis to thy health she stooping quaffs

The sapphire cup that fairy zephyrs bring !" Reverent I greet the bards of other days :

On considering these and the preceding lines, I was Blest be your names, and lasting be your praise !

tempted to indulge a wish that the Blue Stocking club Frum nature's varied face ye widely drew,

would issue an immediate order to Mr. Bell to examine And following ages own'd the copies true.

the cells of Bedlam. Certainly, if an accurate transcript 0! had our sots, who rhyme with headlong haste, were made from the “ darkened walls" once or twice a And think reflection still a foe to taste,

quarter, an Album might be presented to the fashionable But brains your pregnant scenes to understand, world, more poetical, and far more rational, than any And give us truth, though but at second hand,

which they have lately honoured with their applause.

" Why does thy stream of sweetest song "Twere something yet! But no, they never look

Foam on the mountain's murmuring side, Shall souls of fire, they cry, a tutor brook ?

Or through the vocal covert glide ? There is also one William Shakspeare, who, I am ready

“I heard a tuneful phantom in the wind, to take my oath, is a notorious offender in this way;

I saw it watch the rising moon afar, having led not only me, but divers others, into the most

Wet with the weeping of the twilight star.gross and ridiculous errors; making us laugh, cry, &c., 6 The pilgrim who with tearful eye shall view for persons whom we ought to have known to be mere The moon's wan lustre in the midnight dew, nonentities.

Soothed by her lightBut Mr. Parsons has happily obtained an obdurate and This is an admirable reason for his crying S-but what! impassable head: let him, therefore, “ give God thanks, Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire. Mr. and make no boast of it.” He is a wise and a wary Bellis in raptures with it, and very properly recommends reader, and follows the most judicious Bottom, who having, it to the admiration of Della Crusca, as being the produclike himself, too much sagacity to be imposed upon by a tion of “a congenial soul.” There is also another judifeigned character, was laudably anxious to undeceive cious critic, one Dr. Tasker, (should it not be Dr. Trus. the world. “No," quoth he, “let him thrust his face ler ?) who has given a decided opinion, it seems, in favour through the lion's neck, and say, if you think I come hither of the writer's abilities; which may console her for the as a lion, it were pity of my life—no, I am no such thing: sneers of fifty such envious scribblers as the author of I am a man, as other men are ;-and then, indeed, let the Baviad. him name his name, and tell them plainly he is SNUG

And first you shall hear what Mrs. Robinson says of the joiner.”

Dr. Tasker.-" The learned and ingenious Dr. Tasker, * Edgar Atheling.-See the “ Battle of Hastings," a in the third volume of his elegant and critical works, tragedy by Mr. Cumberland,

has PRONOUNCED some of Mrs. Robinson's poems superior + Ye Cruscans !

to those of Milton on the same subject, particularly her O voi, che della Crusca vi chiamate,

Address to the Nightingale. The praises of so competent Come quei che farina non avendo

and disinterested a judge, STAMPS celebrity that neither Di quella a tutto pasto vi saziate !

time nor envy can obliterate."--Oracle, Dec. 10. Lorenzo.—“A lamentable tragedy by Della Crusca,

Next you shall hear what Dr. Tasker says of Mrs. Ro

binson. mixed full of pleasant mirth.” The house laughed a-good at it, but Mr. Harriscried sadly. Here is another instance,

“In ancient Greece by two fair forms were seen if it were wanted, of the bad effects of prostitute applause.

Wisdom's stern goddess, and Love's smiling queen; Could Mr. Harris, if his mind had not been previously

Pallas presided over arms and arts, warped by the eternal putts of Bell and his followers, And Venus over gentle virgins' hearts; have supposed, for a moment, that a knack of stringing But now both powers in one fair form combine, together“hoar hills," and " rippling rills," and“ red skies

And in famed Robinson united shine." glare," and " thin, thin air," qualified a man for writing "This lady,equally celebrated in the polite and literary tragedy

circles, has honoured Mr.''-Lo! thc Dr. has dwindled

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