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 |  |
THE COUNTERCHECK CHARITABLE.
[_]
To the Red Hot Advocate for Mr. Thomas Pain, who, in a Letter signed “Mercurius”, arraign'd the Author, as a wretched, lying Poetaster, for asserting, that so Great and Good a Man denied the Existence of a Future State.
When, Mercurius, your doughty Caduceus you wave,
With Serpents entwisted, your Victims to strike at,
E'en Phœbus's Lash would your Prowess outbrave,
And Reason and Rhyme level Weapon alike at.
With Serpents entwisted, your Victims to strike at,
E'en Phœbus's Lash would your Prowess outbrave,
And Reason and Rhyme level Weapon alike at.
For, when Pain we expose, your Idolatry's God,
Whose Faith on your Sleeve so devoutly you pin,
At your Fiat alone we must all rue the Rod,
Which you brandish, our heretic Bottoms to skin.
Whose Faith on your Sleeve so devoutly you pin,
At your Fiat alone we must all rue the Rod,
Which you brandish, our heretic Bottoms to skin.
Yet the Hand unimpartial we grant should be stopt,
Which represents Pain in a false Point of View;
And, though coarse is the Phrase, yet your Phrase to adopt,
“Those of Devils who speak, should give Devils their Due!”
Which represents Pain in a false Point of View;
And, though coarse is the Phrase, yet your Phrase to adopt,
“Those of Devils who speak, should give Devils their Due!”
Ergo, he who takes Pains to misrepresent Pain,
By Punning, or Quibbling, or Jingling, or aught,
To reverse all that's bad, must his Faculties strain,
And a Picture pourtray, without Blemish or Fault.
By Punning, or Quibbling, or Jingling, or aught,
To reverse all that's bad, must his Faculties strain,
And a Picture pourtray, without Blemish or Fault.
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Has the Brush so pervertedly swept o'er the Ground?
(Though too often the Handler both stumbles and limps,)
Or does he one Devil with Angels confound?
Let the Question be solv'd by the Chief of his Imps!
(Though too often the Handler both stumbles and limps,)
Or does he one Devil with Angels confound?
Let the Question be solv'd by the Chief of his Imps!
You assert, that his Creed future Life doth agnize,
And that that gives the Lie to the poor Poetaster;
But Professions adopted to sanction worse Lies,
Claim the Credence alone of a vile Criticaster!
And that that gives the Lie to the poor Poetaster;
But Professions adopted to sanction worse Lies,
Claim the Credence alone of a vile Criticaster!
To premise in a Text what the Comment explodes,
Is upholding a Tree, while at Root strikes the Ax;
So he models his Cant about future Abodes,
As we mould a Disguise, with a meer Nose of Wax.
Is upholding a Tree, while at Root strikes the Ax;
So he models his Cant about future Abodes,
As we mould a Disguise, with a meer Nose of Wax.
He admits of a God, too, but God only knows
What he means by the Term, for his God seems a Creature,
Unmov'd as a Stock at our Blisses or Woes,
Though appointed, by Fate, Acting-Partner with Nature!
What he means by the Term, for his God seems a Creature,
Unmov'd as a Stock at our Blisses or Woes,
Though appointed, by Fate, Acting-Partner with Nature!
Ah! light headed Boy, pluck the Wing from thy Brow,
Quit the Name of a Scout between Heaven and Hell,
Spurn Apostacy's Pandar, and thankfully bow,
That thou art not inmesh'd in his Hell-woven Spell!
Quit the Name of a Scout between Heaven and Hell,
Spurn Apostacy's Pandar, and thankfully bow,
That thou art not inmesh'd in his Hell-woven Spell!
Then reflect that a Bacon, a Newton, a Boyle,
A Locke, and a Legion of Sages beside,
From the Rays of Religion did never recoil,
Nor presumptuously dar'd its bright Beams to deride!
A Locke, and a Legion of Sages beside,
From the Rays of Religion did never recoil,
Nor presumptuously dar'd its bright Beams to deride!
And when a vile Pigmy in Science's Lore,
Their Footsteps Colossal proclaims were misled,
Both his Darkness and Danger alike we deplore,
And bewail the sad Warp of his Heart and his Head.
Their Footsteps Colossal proclaims were misled,
Both his Darkness and Danger alike we deplore,
And bewail the sad Warp of his Heart and his Head.
While the poor Poetaster, unmov'd at thy Spleen,
Which with Language indignant bespatters his Name,
Most gladly the Suckling from Poison would wean,
Which a Fiend has work'd up, to get Damn'd into Fame!
Which with Language indignant bespatters his Name,
Most gladly the Suckling from Poison would wean,
Which a Fiend has work'd up, to get Damn'd into Fame!
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