The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] :: :: University of Virginia Library

West tells the world, that Peter cannot rhime—
Peter declares, point blank, that West can't paint;
West swears, I've not an atom of sublime—
I swear, he hath no notion of a saint:

And that his cross-wing'd cherubims are fowls,
Baptiz'd by naturalists, owls:
Half of the meek apostles, gangs of robbers:
His angels, sets of brazen-headed lubbers.

The Holy Scripture says, ‘All flesh is grass;’
With Mr. West, all flesh is brick and brass;
Except his horse-flesh, that I fairly own
Is often of the choicest Portland stone.
I've said too, that this artist's faces
Ne'er paid a visit to the graces:

That on expression he could never brag:
Yet for this article hath he been studying;
But in it never could surpass a pudding—
No, gentle reader, nor a pudding bag.

105

I dare not say, that Mr. West
Cannot sound criticism impart:
I'm told the man with technicals is blest;
That he can talk a deal upon the art:
Yes, he can talk, I do not doubt it—
‘About it, goddess, and about it!’

Thus, then, is Mr. West deserving praise—
And let my justice the fair laud afford:
For, lo! this far-fam'd artist cuts both ways;
Exactly like the angel Gabriel's sword:
The beauties of the art his converse shews:
His canvass almost ev'ry thing that's bad!
Thus, at th' Academy, we must suppose,
A man more useful, never could be had:
Who in himself, a host, so much can do;
Who is both precept and example too!