University of Virginia Library

ODE XI.

The Bard sensibly reproveth the young Artists for their Propensity to Abuse—Most wittily compareth them to Horse-leeches, Game-cocks, and Curs.

The mean, the ranc'rous jealousies that swell
In some sad artists' souls, I do despise;
Instead of nobly striving to excel,
You strive to pick out one the other's eyes.
To be a painter, was Correggio's glory:—
His speech should flame in gold—‘Sono pittore.’
But what, if truth were spoke, would be your speeches?
This—‘We're a set of fame-sucking horse-leeches;
Without a blush, the poorest scandal speaking—
Like cocks, for ever at each other beaking;
As if the globe we dwell on were so small,
There really was not room enough for all.’
Young men!—
I do presume that one of you in ten
Has kept a dog or two, and has remark'd,
That when you have been comfortably feeding,
The curs, without one atom of court breeding,
With wat'ry jaws, have whin'd and paw'd, and bark'd;

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Show'd anxiousness about the mutton bone,
And 'stead of your mouth, wish'd it in their own;
And if you gave this bone to one or t'other,
Heav'ns, what a snarling, quarrelling, and pother!
This, p'rhaps, has often touch'd you to the quick,
And made you teach good manners by a kick;
And if the tumult was beyond all bearing,
A little bit of sweet emphatic swearing,
An eloquence of wondrous use in wars,
Amongst sea captains and the brave jack tars.
Now tell me honestly—pray don't you find
Somewhat in Christians just of the same kind
That you experienc'd in the curs,
Causing your anger and demurs?
As, for example, when your mistress, Fame,
Wishing to celebrate a worthy name,
Takes up her trump to give the just applause;
How have you, puppy-like, paw'd, wish'd and whin'd;
And growl'd, and curs'd, and swore, and pin'd,
And long'd to tear the trumpet from her jaws!
The dogs deserv'd their kicking to be sure;
But you! O fie, boys! go and sin no more.