 | Guy's Porridge Pot |  |
BOOK VI.
ARGUMENT.
AFTER a display of no common learning, the narrative continued. The Doctor's extraordinary escape—Reflections and soliloquy—He moralises in vain—a proof of it.—The effects of his example on Somnus—The soliloquy related to the Della Cruscan Poet—and thus the Della Cruscan Poet's absence accounted for—A very old simile but a very good one—quite original in its application.—The author shews some astronomical knowledge— The Della Cruscan Poet's accomplishments—The surprising perverseness of many people during the representation of his tragedy, accounted for.
Fire burn; and cauldron bubble!
Cool it with a Baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good!”
Macbetm.
The wanderings of thy humble bard on
So very high a theme as this is—
Who hears not, knows not what he misses.
Are cross'd, not stopp'd, by Episodes.
If grave Quintilian somewhere teaches
How books resemble people's breeches,
In this that breeches were designed
To shew the shape, as books the mind—
And thence infers, when hanging loose,
The more the stuff, the less the use.
Would he in buck-skin case confine us?
Or if he would grave Longinus?
Who rides on Pegasus, may ride
With him and Homer by his side
Both fast and slow, both far and wide.
A man's a noodle if he aims
To square his work by rules from Kaims,
His muse for sake of Aristotle.
Reader, by this, you see my learning—
That fairly known and duly rated,
I turn again to—and—
Or frightful dreams of fleeting lawn—
Whatever caused, the Doctor fled
But just in time to save his bed.
Perchance of what might hap aware,
Before he bent his knees in prayer,
He sought and found a seat-less chair.
So well contrived, one less discerning,
Less used than he to midnight learning;
I say an uninstructed mind
Might never know for what designed.
Of those whose caution placed it there;
He sits not thanklessly—lo! he
Is heard in this soliloquy!
'Twas well I knew the corner where—
Man, wretched man! by dangers warned,
May learn to prize what late he scorned!
How short his views! how often fated
To wish for what he scorned or hated!
O! were the Regent in my pocket!
What would one page be worth to me
Of Della Cruscan poetry!
And was, forsooth, their only use
To light a candle, singe a goose,
Or curl the long lank hair of Molly?
Wise men may live to curse their folly!
I never dreamt, till doomed to lose them,
This was the properest way to use them!
Thou chattering, pompous, empty-pated,
Half-reasoning, rhyming, prosing — —
I'll bait thee as thou should'st be baited!”
But moralized and searched in vain!
In vain alas! for this is certain
That Doctor used the other's curtain.
That Somnus, stuffed with tripe and ale,
Cried “ho! my boots! the grey must gallop—
A sixpence for an ounce of jalap!”
How strong in man is lust of fame,
He goes to bed, and does the same!
But to return—enough is stated
To shew why Della Cruscan — —
Who heard of all the Doctor said
From vexed and listening chamber-maid.
“Et concione se” absented.
For light and heat around the sun:
(Alas! how plain it is to see
As many know my simile!
I must go on since I began it)
And little worlds attend a planet:
Far off indeed, tho' nearest, far,
His beams came straight from Doctor —
Now some astronomers have found
The nearest planet turns not round,
While one side roasts, they boldly tax his
Unequal light for want of axis:
But to apply what they remark,
There may be moons though in the dark;
And pictured Gorgon's pretty son
Is just exactly such an one!
Italian, German, French, and
“Greek!”
(Author)
No, Sir, he scorns both Greek and Latin!
But to make up, there is none better
At senses, organs, and at meta-
Physics in every different branch
From Aristotle to Malbranche!
He dwells on Hume and Hobbs and Clarke,
Till clear grows dim, and light grows dark.
He can convince by dint of bother
Whatever silly men suppose
Though pinch'd and pull'd that no one knows
Whether he have or not a nose.
But not confined to reason, he
Indulged his vein for poetry.
Shakspeare his model, and as like
As sign-post painter to Vandyke.
Though blushing Siddons kindly strain'd
To save the play, and serve her friend—
It happened most surprisingly
That folk would laugh, when folk should cry!
But wonder ceases when I tell ye
His Regent has got Falstaff's belly.
Sometimes in verse, sometimes in prose,
He stamps, he raves, he sweats, he blows,
And nothing surely can be worse
Than verse half prose, but prose half verse!
Mysterious vase of mighty Guy!
But soon their panting lungs shall strain
To make thee smoke and boil again!
Conveniet Satyros—ita vertere seria ludo.”
Hor. de Art. Poet.
And now, gentle Reader, I take my leave of you for the present. When we meet again, I will relate the remainder of my story. It is full of the most surprising matter; but I was impatient to make you acquainted with so many illustrious characters first. Having effected that, I shall communicate the rest— not only all they did, but all they said. In the mean time let me invite you to study diligently that which is in your hands. You are as yet only in the porch of this magnificent edifice which I am erecting to learning: but every other part, yea even to the closets and chambers, shall be thrown open. With all due humility, I earnestly and modestly believe that there is no one better calculated for your guide than myself. Is there any man who possesses either more fancy or more learning? I can let you into the secrets of literature better than most other persons, because I am far more candid, and thoroughly acquainted with them. I can tell you things of wise and learned men, and of men who are neither wise nor learned, which will harrow up your very soul, and make their bristles “like quills upon the fretful porcupine.”
For the present, most gentle Reader, FAREWELL. | Guy's Porridge Pot | |