Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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 | Scripscrapologia |  |
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A PATTERN CARD FOR THE PRINTERS OF PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPERS.
[_]
Written in 1797, as a New Year's Address to the Public, for the Birmingham Chronicle. And reprinted Here and Now to oblige a Number of our best Friends.
As the Crisis is come, when by Custom invited,
To Customers all a few Lines are indited,
We take up the Pen to lay down a plain Truth,
That an Old batter'd Muse may retain a Colt's Tooth;
And, (Rhyme without Reason long 'custom'd to mumble,)
If brought to Short Commons, the Beldam will grumble;
So fares it with Scribblers who feast on a Vapour,
Yet emptily crave to waste Ink and spoil Paper:
Nor can a plain Truth by Denial be foil'd,
That WE stand indited for Sheets often spoil'd;
To Customers all a few Lines are indited,
We take up the Pen to lay down a plain Truth,
That an Old batter'd Muse may retain a Colt's Tooth;
And, (Rhyme without Reason long 'custom'd to mumble,)
If brought to Short Commons, the Beldam will grumble;
So fares it with Scribblers who feast on a Vapour,
Yet emptily crave to waste Ink and spoil Paper:
Nor can a plain Truth by Denial be foil'd,
That WE stand indited for Sheets often spoil'd;
Yet no Charge but of premature Waste can we dread,
Since Newspapers all are Wastepapers when Read.
Now, the New Year arriv'd, 'tis expected by You,
That, to garnish our News, we should say something New
Something New?—Why there's Nothing so easily said,
When Novelty's Hand by Invention is led;
But Facts are so dull and so sluggish in teeming,
That standing alone they are scarce worth esteeming.
Since Newspapers all are Wastepapers when Read.
Now, the New Year arriv'd, 'tis expected by You,
That, to garnish our News, we should say something New
Something New?—Why there's Nothing so easily said,
When Novelty's Hand by Invention is led;
But Facts are so dull and so sluggish in teeming,
That standing alone they are scarce worth esteeming.
To say, “With Attachment that never can waver,
We've Hearts deep impress'd with your Friendship and Favour;
Where Gratitude long has unshakenly sat,”
'Twere a Fact you'll acknowledge.—But who esteems That?
But to say “Of past Bounties, so high priz'd the Rate is,
That, such to Return, we'll in future Print Gratis;”
Till a Fiction it prov'd, would be laudable deem'd,
And such Piece of News would be highly esteem'd.
Now to say ‘We're at War, and that War causes Want,’
Is the Croaker's dull Tale and the Time's gloomy Cant;
But give Things a new Turn, and proclaim Peace and Plenty,
For One Reader this Week, the Next we'd have Twenty.
Yet, alas, the Poor Newsman to Facts is confin'd,
Nor can get by False News his Old Pockets new lin'd.
We've Hearts deep impress'd with your Friendship and Favour;
Where Gratitude long has unshakenly sat,”
'Twere a Fact you'll acknowledge.—But who esteems That?
But to say “Of past Bounties, so high priz'd the Rate is,
That, such to Return, we'll in future Print Gratis;”
Till a Fiction it prov'd, would be laudable deem'd,
And such Piece of News would be highly esteem'd.
143
Is the Croaker's dull Tale and the Time's gloomy Cant;
But give Things a new Turn, and proclaim Peace and Plenty,
For One Reader this Week, the Next we'd have Twenty.
Yet, alas, the Poor Newsman to Facts is confin'd,
Nor can get by False News his Old Pockets new lin'd.
Now to Thousands we think 'twould be both new and pleasing,
That Taxes were dwindling and Trade was increasing;
And no Doubt but 'twould cherish All Saints here on Earth,
To hear that All Sinners had found the New Birth:
Nay at Court, where they say—Sinners take their full Swing,
Many think a New Birth would not be a bad Thing.
Then if Fox we made Minister, tumbl'd down Pitt,
And chang'd Measures and Men in a new fangling Fit;
Even Fictions like those would not raise our Supplies,
But our Credit be lost by a New Birth to Lies.
That Taxes were dwindling and Trade was increasing;
And no Doubt but 'twould cherish All Saints here on Earth,
To hear that All Sinners had found the New Birth:
Nay at Court, where they say—Sinners take their full Swing,
Many think a New Birth would not be a bad Thing.
Then if Fox we made Minister, tumbl'd down Pitt,
And chang'd Measures and Men in a new fangling Fit;
Even Fictions like those would not raise our Supplies,
But our Credit be lost by a New Birth to Lies.
Suppose we should say, though not new is the Boast,
That “for News to present ye, we grub every Post;
That at no Side we scoff, of no Faction make Fun,
But to all Parties open, we're Panders to none.”
Some Crab in a Corner such News would decry,
And say—‘Tis no New Thing for Printers to lie.’
That “for News to present ye, we grub every Post;
That at no Side we scoff, of no Faction make Fun,
But to all Parties open, we're Panders to none.”
Some Crab in a Corner such News would decry,
And say—‘Tis no New Thing for Printers to lie.’
Some few will allow we tell Truth to a Tittle,
Some here find too much, and some there find too little;
But whatever they find, some with Discontent fraught,
While they're chewing the Cud, will not cease to find Fault.
Some here find too much, and some there find too little;
But whatever they find, some with Discontent fraught,
While they're chewing the Cud, will not cease to find Fault.
The staunch Tory insists, that ‘We're cowardly Calves,
‘And our Bleating but shews—We're but Loyal by Halves!’
That “an honest John Bull should both bellow and butt,”
And nothing but goring his Fury can glut.
The Whig says “We flout at a wholesome Reform,
Nor wish the Helm shifted, though lost in the Storm;
That we truckle to time-serving Slaves and such Things,
And our Paper's a Puff to the Chapter of Kings”
‘And our Bleating but shews—We're but Loyal by Halves!’
That “an honest John Bull should both bellow and butt,”
And nothing but goring his Fury can glut.
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Nor wish the Helm shifted, though lost in the Storm;
That we truckle to time-serving Slaves and such Things,
And our Paper's a Puff to the Chapter of Kings”
The Mod'rate, well pleas'd with our Proses and Rhymes,
Asks, ‘Why Moderation is mark'd with such Crimes?’
Asks, ‘Why Moderation is mark'd with such Crimes?’
But while Things we write for all Parties to read,
To escape free from Blame 'twere a New Thing indeed!
So, Blushless and bold, we'll pursue the Old Plan,
And strive to please all, still as well as we can.
To escape free from Blame 'twere a New Thing indeed!
So, Blushless and bold, we'll pursue the Old Plan,
And strive to please all, still as well as we can.
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