The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
Friendly Advice to Dr. Bl---
By the Right Honourable the Lord ---
Knighthood to Heroes only once was due,
Now's the Reward of stupid praise in you.
Why should a Quack be dubb'd, unless it be
That Pois'ning is an Act of Chivalry?
Thus we must own, you have your Thousands slain
With direful strokes of your resistless Pen.
By whipping the Boys, your Cruelty began,
And grew, by bolder Steps, to killing Man.
Just the reverse of Dionysius Fate,
Who fell to flogging Bums, from murdering the State.
For both these Trades your Genius far unfit,
At length with sawcy Pride aspires to Wit.
Which by pretending to, you more disgrace,
Than toasting Beaus, our ancient British Race.
I'th' Mountebank the Ass had lain conceal'd,
But his loud braying has the Brute reveal'd.
Such vile Heroicks, such unhallow'd Strains,
Were never spawn'd before from Irish Brains;
Nor drowsy Mum, nor dozing Usquebaugh,
Could e'er suggest such Lines to Sir John Daw,
You weakly skirmish with the Sins o'th' Age,
And are the errant Scavenger o'th' Stage.
Why Vertue makes no progress now is plain,
Because such Knights as you its Cause maintain.
If you'd a Friend to Sense and Virtue be,
And to Mankind, for once be rul'd by me,
Leave Moralizing, Drugs and Poetry.
Now's the Reward of stupid praise in you.
87
That Pois'ning is an Act of Chivalry?
Thus we must own, you have your Thousands slain
With direful strokes of your resistless Pen.
By whipping the Boys, your Cruelty began,
And grew, by bolder Steps, to killing Man.
Just the reverse of Dionysius Fate,
Who fell to flogging Bums, from murdering the State.
For both these Trades your Genius far unfit,
At length with sawcy Pride aspires to Wit.
Which by pretending to, you more disgrace,
Than toasting Beaus, our ancient British Race.
I'th' Mountebank the Ass had lain conceal'd,
But his loud braying has the Brute reveal'd.
Such vile Heroicks, such unhallow'd Strains,
Were never spawn'd before from Irish Brains;
Nor drowsy Mum, nor dozing Usquebaugh,
Could e'er suggest such Lines to Sir John Daw,
You weakly skirmish with the Sins o'th' Age,
And are the errant Scavenger o'th' Stage.
Why Vertue makes no progress now is plain,
Because such Knights as you its Cause maintain.
If you'd a Friend to Sense and Virtue be,
And to Mankind, for once be rul'd by me,
Leave Moralizing, Drugs and Poetry.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |