ODE XVII.
The moralizing Bard exposeth the unfairness of
Mankind in the Article of Laughing—Descanteth
upon Wit—Disclaimeth Pretension to it—
Maketh Love to Candour, and modestly concludeth.
How dearly mortals love to laugh and grin!
Just as they love to stuff themselves to chin
With other people's meat—good saving sense!
Because at other folks' expense;
But turn the laugh on them—how chang'd their notes!
‘O damn 'em! this is serious—cut their throats!’
Wit, says an author that I do not know,
Is like Time's scythe—cuts down both friend and foe;
Ready each object, tiger-like, to leap on!
‘Lord! what a butcher this same wit! thank God!
(A critic cries) in Master Pindar's Ode,
We spy th' effect of no such dangerous weapon.’
No, Sir—'tis dove-ey'd Candour's charms
I woo to these desiring arms;
She is my goddess—to her shrine I bend:
Nympth of the voice, that beats the morning lark.
Sweet as the dulcet note of either Park
,
Be thou my soft companion and my friend.
Thy lovely hand my Pegasus shall guide,
And teach thy modest pupil how to ride:
Thus shall I hurt not any group-composers,
From Sarah Benwell's brush, to Mary Mozer's
.
