The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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| VIII. | ODE VIII. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
70
ODE VIII.
The generous Peter rescueth the immortal Raphael from the Obloquy of Michael Angelo— The Poet moralizeth—Telleth a Story not to the Credit of Michael Angelo, and nobly defendeth Raphael's Name against his invidious Attack —Concludeth with a most sage Observation.
How difficult in artists to allow
To brother brushmen ev'n a grain of merit!
Wishing to tear the laurels from their brow,
They show a sniv'ling, diabolic spirit.
To brother brushmen ev'n a grain of merit!
Wishing to tear the laurels from their brow,
They show a sniv'ling, diabolic spirit.
So 'tis! however moralists may chatter—
What's worse still—nature will be always nature
We can't brew Burgundy from sour small beer,
Nor make a silken purse of a sow's ear.
What's worse still—nature will be always nature
We can't brew Burgundy from sour small beer,
Nor make a silken purse of a sow's ear.
Sweet is the voice of Praise!—from eve to morn
From blushing morn to darkling eve again,
My Muse the brows of Merit could adorn,
And, lark-like, swell the panegyric strain.
From blushing morn to darkling eve again,
My Muse the brows of Merit could adorn,
And, lark-like, swell the panegyric strain.
Praise, like the balm which evening's dewy star
Sheds on the drooping herb and fainting flower,
Lifts modest, pining Merit from despair,
And gives her clouded eye a golden hour,
Sheds on the drooping herb and fainting flower,
Lifts modest, pining Merit from despair,
And gives her clouded eye a golden hour,
P*x take me if I ever read the story
Of Michael Angelo, without much swearing:
'Tis such a slice cut off from Michael's glory,
He surely had been brandying it or beering:
That is, in plainer English, he was drunk,
And candour from the man with horror shrunk.
Of Michael Angelo, without much swearing:
'Tis such a slice cut off from Michael's glory,
He surely had been brandying it or beering:
That is, in plainer English, he was drunk,
And candour from the man with horror shrunk.
Raphael did honour to the Roman school,
Yet Michael did vouchsafe to call him fool;
When working in the Vatican, would stare,
Throw down his brush, and stamp and swear,
If e'er a porter let him in—he'd stone him;
And, if he Raphael caught, most surely bone him.
He swore the world was a rank ass
To pay a compliment to Raphael's stuff;
For that he knew the fellow well enough,
And that his paltry metal would not pass.
Yet Michael did vouchsafe to call him fool;
71
Throw down his brush, and stamp and swear,
If e'er a porter let him in—he'd stone him;
And, if he Raphael caught, most surely bone him.
He swore the world was a rank ass
To pay a compliment to Raphael's stuff;
For that he knew the fellow well enough,
And that his paltry metal would not pass.
Such was the language of this false Italian:
One time he christen'd Raphael a Pygmalion,
Swore that his madams were compos'd of stone;
Swore his expressions were like owls so tame,
His drawings, like the lamest cripple, lame;
That, as for composition, he had none.
One time he christen'd Raphael a Pygmalion,
Swore that his madams were compos'd of stone;
Swore his expressions were like owls so tame,
His drawings, like the lamest cripple, lame;
That, as for composition, he had none.
Young artists! these assertions I deny;—
'Twas vile ill manners—not to say a lie:
Raphael did real excellence inherit;
And if you ever chance to paint as well,
I bona fide do foretel,
You'll certainly be men of merit.
'Twas vile ill manners—not to say a lie:
Raphael did real excellence inherit;
And if you ever chance to paint as well,
I bona fide do foretel,
You'll certainly be men of merit.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |