The Priest Dissected A Poem, Addressed to the Rev. Mr. ---, Author of Regulus, Toby, Caesar, And other Satirical Pieces in the Public Papers. By the author of the New Bath Guide [i.e.Christopher Anstey]. Canto I. The Second Edition |
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 | The Priest Dissected |  |
Bring forth this self-made monarch of a day,
Who like Sicilian tyrants holds his sway,
Yet to sweet freedom's ever-soothing note,
Joins the harsh discord of his patriot throat,
Levels his wrath at all who dare control
The fierce emotions of his free-born soul:
But why at me? whom far from party rage
No furious schemes of politics engage;
Who like Sicilian tyrants holds his sway,
Yet to sweet freedom's ever-soothing note,
Joins the harsh discord of his patriot throat,
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The fierce emotions of his free-born soul:
But why at me? whom far from party rage
No furious schemes of politics engage;
From wealth, from honours, and from courts remov'd
I've kept the silent path my genius lov'd,
And pity'd those whom fortune oft' beguiles,
With flatt'ring hopes from false ambition's smiles;
Hence far from me the prostituted hour
Of adulation base on pride or pow'r,
Hence (thanks to heav'n) I ne'er was doom'd to know
What bitter streams from disappointment flow:
Oh! bane of life's sweet cup! you oft' compel
Your wretched victim in some lonely cell,
(Such as contains, I deem, that hapless bard
Who claims this instance of my just regard)
With soul that erst to insolence could cringe
To seek the means of impotent revenge;
Vile letters for vile printers to compose,
In one dull series of perpetual prose,
Or soaring on the muse's eagle wings,
Abuse alike all ministers and kings:
Peace to such scribes: from such protect my name,
Whose praise is infamy, whose censure fame:
I've kept the silent path my genius lov'd,
And pity'd those whom fortune oft' beguiles,
With flatt'ring hopes from false ambition's smiles;
Hence far from me the prostituted hour
Of adulation base on pride or pow'r,
Hence (thanks to heav'n) I ne'er was doom'd to know
What bitter streams from disappointment flow:
Oh! bane of life's sweet cup! you oft' compel
Your wretched victim in some lonely cell,
(Such as contains, I deem, that hapless bard
Who claims this instance of my just regard)
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To seek the means of impotent revenge;
Vile letters for vile printers to compose,
In one dull series of perpetual prose,
Or soaring on the muse's eagle wings,
Abuse alike all ministers and kings:
Peace to such scribes: from such protect my name,
Whose praise is infamy, whose censure fame:
| The Priest Dissected | |