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 |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
404
JOHN LANE.
The Bard exhibiteth Symptoms of Surprise and Pleasure at the Mary and Christ of Mr. Lane, a very young Artist—Evinceth his Preference of the sublime to the humbler Branches of the Art—and concludeth with a just Satire on himself.
What have we here! A charming picture
Bidding defiance to sharp stricture;
Ye farthing rush-lights, that around us wink,
Oh, hide each poor diminish'd head;
Of competition be afraid,
For verily with shame ye ought to shrink.
Bidding defiance to sharp stricture;
Ye farthing rush-lights, that around us wink,
Oh, hide each poor diminish'd head;
Of competition be afraid,
For verily with shame ye ought to shrink.
A youth whose years are just nineteen,
Who scarcely ought has done or seen,
And never yet beheld the gods of Rome—
While your small lights, as I have said,
Should hide each poor diminish'd head,
This stripling's torch illuminates the dome!
Who scarcely ought has done or seen,
And never yet beheld the gods of Rome—
While your small lights, as I have said,
Should hide each poor diminish'd head,
This stripling's torch illuminates the dome!
I hail thy genius—Mind thy hits—
Beyond the reach of damning wits:
To court th' historic muse, be thy ambition;
Prophetic, I aver thy line
Amid the Roman school will shine,
And not disgrace the great Carrache or Titian.
Beyond the reach of damning wits:
To court th' historic muse, be thy ambition;
Prophetic, I aver thy line
Amid the Roman school will shine,
And not disgrace the great Carrache or Titian.
Now should our bishops drop the saint,
Revoke anathemas on paint,
And suffer saints and martyrs in St. Paul's,
Who for their good opinions died,
Boil'd, roasted, carbonaded, fried;
Thy hand should tell their story on the walls.
Revoke anathemas on paint,
And suffer saints and martyrs in St. Paul's,
Who for their good opinions died,
Boil'd, roasted, carbonaded, fried;
Thy hand should tell their story on the walls.
405
Let others search the ragged cot
For brooms, joint-stools, plate, pan, and pot—
I mean not on such genius to be bitter—
But were I free to choose a name,
I should not covet a Dutch fame,
That hunts for immortality in litter.
For brooms, joint-stools, plate, pan, and pot—
I mean not on such genius to be bitter—
But were I free to choose a name,
I should not covet a Dutch fame,
That hunts for immortality in litter.
To move a men now, who would wish—
In paltry brooks a paltry fish—
While Nature offers him to roll a whale!—
Unmatch'd, with mighty fins to sweep
The boundless region of the deep,
And sport amid the thunders of the gale?
In paltry brooks a paltry fish—
While Nature offers him to roll a whale!—
Unmatch'd, with mighty fins to sweep
The boundless region of the deep,
And sport amid the thunders of the gale?
And this to me may be applied—
The world will cry—‘Where is thy pride,
To put thy muse on Academic Odes;—
When, if she chose it, she might sport
Amidst the grandeur of a court,
And strike the lyre to goddesses and gods?’
The world will cry—‘Where is thy pride,
To put thy muse on Academic Odes;—
When, if she chose it, she might sport
Amidst the grandeur of a court,
And strike the lyre to goddesses and gods?’
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |