University of Virginia Library

A NOSEGAY and a SIMILE for the REVIEWERS.

Ye Overseers and Reviewers
Of all the Muses, Sinks, and Sewers,
Who dwell on high
Enthron'd amongst your peers
The Garetteers,
That border on the sky;
Who hear the music of the spheres,
You have such ears,
And live so nigh!
I thank you for your criticism,
Which you have usher'd in
With a delightful witticism,
That tastes like rotten fruit preserv'd in gin;
And therefore marvel not that my two ballads,
Which are but like two sallads,
By no means suit,
Like your fruit,
With your palates.
I do admire your dealings,
To speak according to your feelings;
And do believe, if you had wherewithall
You would drop honey,
And that you overflow with gall,
Because you do not overflow with money:
Hence all your spite
Against a poor conundrummite,
Whose only business is to watch
Where the conundrums lie,
And be upon the catch
As they go by;
To make a simile in no one feature
Resembling the creature,
That he has in his eye;
Just as a fisher shoots an owl
Or a sea-fowl,
To make the likeness of a fly;
Just as you look into a fire,
To look for any likeness you desire.
Simile-making
Is an undertaking,
In which the undertaker
Resembles a match-maker,
A poor industrious man,
Who means no ill,
And does the best he can
With a quill;
In short, he does according to his skill.
If matters can be brought to bear
So as to tie the knot,
He does not care
Whether they are a happy pair,
Or not;
Though one may differ very wide,
And though another be deficient,
Provided he can get them ty'd
And lay them side by side,
It is sufficient;
And as I said at first,
Nothing could make you all so keen,
And curs'd,
But that which makes you all so lean,
Hunger and thirst.
So now and then a judge
Consigns a wretch
To master Ketch,
Having no grudge,
No reason that can be assigned,
Only, like you, he has not dined.
So far from wishing your allowance shorter,
I wish, for all our sakes,
That you may never want beef-stakes
And porter;
And, for your merits,
A dram of British spirits.
And so I leave you with a fable,
Designed, without a sneer,
To exhilarate your table,
And give a flavour to your beer.
Hark!
And if you please take warning:
My fable is concerning
A Cuckow and a Lark.
If I had said a nightingale,
You would have cry'd,
You could not fail,
That it was pride,
And nought beside,
That made me think of such a tale.
Upon a tree as they were sitting,
They fell into a warm dispute,
Warmer than was sitting,
Which of them was the better flute;
After much prating and debating,
Not worth relating,
Things came to such a pass,
They both agree
To take an Ass
For referee.
The ass was studying botany and grass,
Under the tree.
What do you think was his decree?
Why, says the ass, the question is not hard,
And so he made an excellent award,
As you shall see.
The Lark, says he,
Has got a wild fantastic pipe,
But no more music than a snipe;
It gives one pain, and turns one's brain,
One can't keep time to such a strain;
Whereas the Cuckow's note
Is measur'd, and compos'd with thought.
His method is distinct and clear,
And dwells,
Like bells,
Upon the ear.
Which is the finest music one can hear.
I can distinguish, I'll lay a wager,
His manner and expression,
From every forester and cager
Of the profession.
This ended the dispute, the Cuckow was quite mute
With admiration:
The Lark stood laughing at the brute
Affecting so much penetration.
The Ass was so intoxicated,
And shallow-pated,
That, ever since,
He has got a fancy in his skull
That he has a commission from his prince,
Dated when the moon's at full,
To summon every soul,
Every Ass and Ass's foal,
To try the quick and dull,
Trumpeting through the fields and streets,
Stopping and judging all he meets.
All that he knows,
That I can find,
Is from the information of his nose
Apply'd unto the parts behind;
And by the smell,
'Tis wonderful how he will tell,
Whether their parts are to his mind;
Pronouncing with an air
Of one pronouncing from the chair,
Here is a beauty! This is new!
And that's a blemish,
For which I have no relish;
Just like the Critical Review!