The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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Of DULNESS and SCANDAL
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 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
Of DULNESS and SCANDAL
OCCASIONED BY THE Character of Lord TIMON, In Mr. Pope's Epistle to the Earl of Burlington, 1732.
“Turno tempus adest, magno cum optaverit emptum
“Intactum Pallanta ------
“Pallas te hoc vulnere donit.”
Virg. Æn. x. 583.
“Intactum Pallanta ------
“Pallas te hoc vulnere donit.”
Virg. Æn. x. 583.
While strife subsists 'twixt Cibber and the Pit;
While Vice with Virtue wars, and Pope with Wit;
While dreams to Walker pregnant prudes disclose;
To Chartres rapes, to light Corinna beaux;
So long shall Thames through all his coasts proclaim
Victoria's grief, and Pollio's injur'd fame.
While Vice with Virtue wars, and Pope with Wit;
While dreams to Walker pregnant prudes disclose;
To Chartres rapes, to light Corinna beaux;
So long shall Thames through all his coasts proclaim
Victoria's grief, and Pollio's injur'd fame.
Ye vales of Richmond, fraught with wasting thyme!
Ye beds of lilies, and ye groves of lime!
Say, where is she that made those lilies bright!
The scribbler's shame, who was the swains' delight!
Ye beds of lilies, and ye groves of lime!
197
The scribbler's shame, who was the swains' delight!
Behold the Charmer, wasting to decay;
Like Autumn faded in her virgin May!
To pore o'er curs'd Translation, rest she flies,
And dims by midnight lamps her beamless eyes;
With Iliads travestied, to age she stoops,
In fustian withers, and o'er crambo droops.
No conquest now, Victoria, shalt thou boast;
The second victim to Achilles' ghost!
Yet fair, though fall'n! a star with feebler fire;
The more we pity, while we less admire:
The spell of nonsense, guiltless injur'd dame,
Thy charms that blasted, shall not blast thy fame;
Thy fame, thy wrong, shall go to future times,
While Pope damns Sheffield with his bellman's rhimes.
Like Autumn faded in her virgin May!
To pore o'er curs'd Translation, rest she flies,
And dims by midnight lamps her beamless eyes;
With Iliads travestied, to age she stoops,
In fustian withers, and o'er crambo droops.
No conquest now, Victoria, shalt thou boast;
The second victim to Achilles' ghost!
Yet fair, though fall'n! a star with feebler fire;
The more we pity, while we less admire:
The spell of nonsense, guiltless injur'd dame,
Thy charms that blasted, shall not blast thy fame;
Thy fame, thy wrong, shall go to future times,
While Pope damns Sheffield with his bellman's rhimes.
Nor Innocence alone its injury rues;
Nor Beauty feels alone th' assassin's Muse:
His felon arts the Patriot's seats alarm,
And spite assails what dulness cannot harm:
See! Pollio falls a victim to the rage,
Which goodness could not charm, nor friendship swage;
Immortal Pollio! high o'er malice rais'd;
Honour'd by Kings, and by the Muses prais'd!
He whom the Happy love! th' Unhappy bless!
Wealth to the Poor, and to the Wrong'd redress!
Who in the Orphan's anguish still has part,
And gives to sing with joy the Widow's heart!
Profuse in good, and like creation kind;
The softest mercy in the noblest mind!
A mind sublime! where vice nor passion reign;
Nor proud in state, nor midst applauses vain!
The thousands weal, and the rich temple's plan,
His zeal to God proclaim, and love to man.
Nor Beauty feels alone th' assassin's Muse:
His felon arts the Patriot's seats alarm,
And spite assails what dulness cannot harm:
See! Pollio falls a victim to the rage,
Which goodness could not charm, nor friendship swage;
Immortal Pollio! high o'er malice rais'd;
Honour'd by Kings, and by the Muses prais'd!
He whom the Happy love! th' Unhappy bless!
Wealth to the Poor, and to the Wrong'd redress!
Who in the Orphan's anguish still has part,
And gives to sing with joy the Widow's heart!
Profuse in good, and like creation kind;
The softest mercy in the noblest mind!
A mind sublime! where vice nor passion reign;
Nor proud in state, nor midst applauses vain!
The thousands weal, and the rich temple's plan,
His zeal to God proclaim, and love to man.
198
Inglorious Rhimer! low licentious slave!
Who blasts the Beauteous, and belies the Brave:
In scurril verse who robs, and dull essays,
Nymphs of their charms, and Heroes of their praise:
All laws for pique or caprice will forego;
The friend of Catiline, and Tully's foe!
Who blasts the Beauteous, and belies the Brave:
In scurril verse who robs, and dull essays,
Nymphs of their charms, and Heroes of their praise:
All laws for pique or caprice will forego;
The friend of Catiline, and Tully's foe!
Oh! born to blacken every virtuous name;
To pass, like blightings, o'er the blooms of fame;
The venom of thy baneful quill to shed
Alike on living merit, and the dead!
Sure, that fam'd Machiavel, what time he drew
The soul's dark workings in the crooked few;
The rancour'd spirit, and malignant will,
By instinct base, by nature shap'd to ill,
An unborn Dæmon was inspir'd to see,
And in his rapture prophesy'd of thee.
To pass, like blightings, o'er the blooms of fame;
The venom of thy baneful quill to shed
Alike on living merit, and the dead!
Sure, that fam'd Machiavel, what time he drew
The soul's dark workings in the crooked few;
The rancour'd spirit, and malignant will,
By instinct base, by nature shap'd to ill,
An unborn Dæmon was inspir'd to see,
And in his rapture prophesy'd of thee.
Ordain'd a hated name by guilt to raise;
To bless with libel, and to curse with praise!
A softling head! that spleeny whims devour;
With will to Satyr, while deny'd the power!
A soul corrupt, that hireling praise suborns!
That hates for Genius, and for Virtue scorns!
A Coxcomb's talents, with a Pedant's art!
A Bigot's fury in an Atheist's heart!
Lewd without lust, and without wit profane!
Outrageous, and afraid! contemn'd, and vain!
To bless with libel, and to curse with praise!
A softling head! that spleeny whims devour;
With will to Satyr, while deny'd the power!
A soul corrupt, that hireling praise suborns!
That hates for Genius, and for Virtue scorns!
A Coxcomb's talents, with a Pedant's art!
A Bigot's fury in an Atheist's heart!
Lewd without lust, and without wit profane!
Outrageous, and afraid! contemn'd, and vain!
Immur'd, whilst young, in Convents hadst thou been,
Victoria still with rapture we had seen:
But now our wishes by the Fates are crost;
We've gain'd a Thersite, and an Helen lost:
The envious planet has deceiv'd our hope;
We've lost a St. Leger, and gain'd a Pope.
Victoria still with rapture we had seen:
But now our wishes by the Fates are crost;
We've gain'd a Thersite, and an Helen lost:
199
We've lost a St. Leger, and gain'd a Pope.
A little Monk thou wert by Nature made!
Wert fashion'd for the Jesuit's gossip trade!
A lean Church-pandar, to procure, or lie!
A pimp at Altars, or in Courts a spy!
Wert fashion'd for the Jesuit's gossip trade!
A lean Church-pandar, to procure, or lie!
A pimp at Altars, or in Courts a spy!
The verse, that Blockheads dawb, shall swift decay,
And Jervas' fame in fustian fade away:
Forgot the self-applauding strain shall be;
Though own'd by Walsh, or palm'don Wycherley:
While Time, nor Fate, this faithful sketch erase,
Which shews thy mind, as Reisbrack's bust thy face.
And Jervas' fame in fustian fade away:
Forgot the self-applauding strain shall be;
Though own'd by Walsh, or palm'don Wycherley:
While Time, nor Fate, this faithful sketch erase,
Which shews thy mind, as Reisbrack's bust thy face.
“Yet thou proceed;” impeach with stedfast hate
What-e'er is god-like, and what-e'er is great:
Debase, in low burlesque, the song divine,
And level David's deathless Muse to thine:
Be Bawdry, still, thy ribald Canto's theme:
Traduce for Satyr, and for Wit blaspheme:
Each chaste idea of thy mind review;
Make Cupids squirt, and gaping Tritons spew:
All Sternhold's spirit in thy verse restore,
And be what Bass and Hey wood were before.
What-e'er is god-like, and what-e'er is great:
Debase, in low burlesque, the song divine,
And level David's deathless Muse to thine:
Be Bawdry, still, thy ribald Canto's theme:
Traduce for Satyr, and for Wit blaspheme:
Each chaste idea of thy mind review;
Make Cupids squirt, and gaping Tritons spew:
All Sternhold's spirit in thy verse restore,
And be what Bass and Hey wood were before.
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |