 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
TO TRUTH.
Well, “Truth,” the snails, upon the tuneful mount,
Would twist and lift their sluggish limbs about,
While thy dull fingers duller numbers count,
And drag the limping legs of Rhyme, slow, lin-ge-ring out.
Would twist and lift their sluggish limbs about,
While thy dull fingers duller numbers count,
And drag the limping legs of Rhyme, slow, lin-ge-ring out.
144
So, “Dulness” owns me for a “favourite son!”
Thank ye, good Sir, that worse ye don't abuse us;
This self-same strumpet, ere her time was run,
Swore thee on Chaos, a Naturæ lusus!
Thank ye, good Sir, that worse ye don't abuse us;
This self-same strumpet, ere her time was run,
Swore thee on Chaos, a Naturæ lusus!
Ah! is the praise of fools no proof of merit?
Their censure, surely then, an envied “praise” is,
And blest be all the stars, that I inherit
So large a portion of your evil graces!
Their censure, surely then, an envied “praise” is,
And blest be all the stars, that I inherit
So large a portion of your evil graces!
“Then dare be honest, and to Knavery own?”
Hadst thou the office of confessor claimed,
Then might I kneel, and all my sins make known,
To one, of whom e'en “Knavery” is ashamed!
Hadst thou the office of confessor claimed,
Then might I kneel, and all my sins make known,
To one, of whom e'en “Knavery” is ashamed!
“The greatest fool, that lives!”—Why heaves that groan?
I'll wear no wreath, that costs my friend a tear;
The cap receive again, 'tis thine alone;
For you, like Cæsar, find on earth no peer!
I'll wear no wreath, that costs my friend a tear;
The cap receive again, 'tis thine alone;
For you, like Cæsar, find on earth no peer!
“As Sense, the accountant, sure has entered sound!”
This error on the clerk of “Fame” must fall;
I'm proud, that in her books my name is found;
With thee she opens no account at all!
This error on the clerk of “Fame” must fall;
I'm proud, that in her books my name is found;
With thee she opens no account at all!
“And find the whole amount not half a sous!”
As well might ants about the Alps declaim,
And garret-criticks preach upon Peru,
As “Truth” the lowest coin of Genius name.
As well might ants about the Alps declaim,
And garret-criticks preach upon Peru,
As “Truth” the lowest coin of Genius name.
“Philenia's sergeant!” Pride adores the thought!
The humblest halbert, which Pieria's queen
From Taste's bright armoury gives, were cheaply bought
With all the epaulets of envious Spleen!
The humblest halbert, which Pieria's queen
From Taste's bright armoury gives, were cheaply bought
With all the epaulets of envious Spleen!
145
Though all my “puffs” not one recruiter drew,
I'll not thy more successful drumstick rob;
Yes! oft I've heard thee beat the loud tattoo,
And with thy long-roll muster Wapping's mob!
I'll not thy more successful drumstick rob;
Yes! oft I've heard thee beat the loud tattoo,
And with thy long-roll muster Wapping's mob!
Thy Gorgon train array, in battle ire;
Philenia triumphs with unaided Charms;
Like Rome's illustrious chief, her magick lyre
Could speak a tuneful Myriad into arms.
Philenia triumphs with unaided Charms;
Like Rome's illustrious chief, her magick lyre
Could speak a tuneful Myriad into arms.
By “puffs” Menander “seeks his fame to raise!”
Thy sickly fame were shocked by means so rough;
The mildest breath puts out the Taper's blaze,
And bubbles vanish at the slightest “puff!”
Thy sickly fame were shocked by means so rough;
The mildest breath puts out the Taper's blaze,
And bubbles vanish at the slightest “puff!”
“My sinking credit!”—Should it sink to wreck,
'Tis joy, to hear thee own, my credit rose;
Thine, by a fall, can never break its neck,
The tide can never ebb, before it flows!
'Tis joy, to hear thee own, my credit rose;
Thine, by a fall, can never break its neck,
The tide can never ebb, before it flows!
Thou son of Zoilus, hail! His pulpit host
Exult in thee, a second leader gained;
Whose greatest praise the vilest grub might boast;
Whose only glory is a laurel stained!
Exult in thee, a second leader gained;
Whose greatest praise the vilest grub might boast;
Whose only glory is a laurel stained!
But I'll no longer war against a foe,
On whom too condescending Justice snears;
A foe, so lost to every tender glow,
That Adamant a Sensitive appears!
On whom too condescending Justice snears;
A foe, so lost to every tender glow,
That Adamant a Sensitive appears!
The surly Critick, who with envy blind,
To shine the pedant, with the man would part,
In Fame's ascending scale may raise his mind,
While in the falling balance sinks his heart.
To shine the pedant, with the man would part,
In Fame's ascending scale may raise his mind,
While in the falling balance sinks his heart.
146
Poor is the ruffian victor of the field,
Where tortured feelings melt the female eye,
Where wounded Tenderness, compelled to yield,
Leads the barbarian's triumph with a sigh.
Where tortured feelings melt the female eye,
Where wounded Tenderness, compelled to yield,
Leads the barbarian's triumph with a sigh.
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |