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 |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE VII.
Peter grinneth.
Young men, be cautious of each critic word,
That blasphemous may much offence afford—
I mean, that wounds an ancient master's fame:
At Titian, Guido, Julio, Veronese,
Your length'ning phiz let admiration seize,
And throw up both your eyes at Raphael's name.
That blasphemous may much offence afford—
I mean, that wounds an ancient master's fame:
At Titian, Guido, Julio, Veronese,
Your length'ning phiz let admiration seize,
And throw up both your eyes at Raphael's name.
110
Ev'n by a print-shop should you chance to pass,
Revere the effigy inside a glass:
Just as with papists the religious care is,
In churches, lanes, to bend their marrow-bones
To bees-wax saints, bon-dieux of stones,
And beech, and deal, or wainscot Virgin Marys.
Revere the effigy inside a glass:
Just as with papists the religious care is,
In churches, lanes, to bend their marrow-bones
To bees-wax saints, bon-dieux of stones,
And beech, and deal, or wainscot Virgin Marys.
Whate'er their errors, they no more remain;
For time, like fuller's earth, takes out each stain:
Nay more—on faults, that modern works would tarnish,
Time spreads a sacred coat of varnish.
For time, like fuller's earth, takes out each stain:
Nay more—on faults, that modern works would tarnish,
Time spreads a sacred coat of varnish.
Spare not on brother artists' backs the lash;
Put a good wire in't—let it slash;
Since ev'ry stroke with int'rest is repaid:
For though you cannot kill the man outright,
Yet by this effort of your rival spite,
Fifty to one, you spoil his trade.
His ruins may be feathers for your nest—
The maxim's not amiss—probatum est.
Put a good wire in't—let it slash;
Since ev'ry stroke with int'rest is repaid:
For though you cannot kill the man outright,
Yet by this effort of your rival spite,
Fifty to one, you spoil his trade.
His ruins may be feathers for your nest—
The maxim's not amiss—probatum est.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |