Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

From that sportive city where Hygeia dwells,
In dark drizly clouds, and astonishing wells;
Where Physic's grave race, in full regiments resort,
And the pale son of Sin holds his annual court;
Blithe Folly's emporium, where Vice gilds her pills,
And Fancy exterminates—corporal ills:
Where rogue and coquet league as sister and brother,
And diamond cuts diamond, unknown to each other;
Where Faith the high worth of warm water enhances,
And dolts pay the piper, while—Knavery dances;
Where Bladud, so Fame has the tale understood,
Roll'd his schrophulous limbs in salubrious mud;
And crescent on crescent, looks saucily o'er ye,
Like the tip of those fanes rais'd to Mahomet's glory;
Comic Blanchard has rov'd, to set Care at defiance,
And form with the Town a defensive alliance.

Sure the handmaids of Fate and Propriety scolded
With retrograde Nature, when Tom was first moulded;

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As they kneaded the atoms which made up his form,
Where Saturn and Mercury live in a storm;
And each takes his turn, for they ne'er mix together,
Like the man and his wife, by which clocks note the weather:
This moment his heels govern all, then his head,
And now the man's quicksilver, then—merely lead.

In his Hodge, tho' there's merit, and much to commend,
To the rustic endowments he scorns to attend;
Broad Humour the province of Wit is invading,
And his efforts are weaken'd by—harlequinading;
He's a sort of stage Andrew, for evermore skipping,
And turning, and twisting, and laughing, and leaping;
If he means to command adventitious applause,
By touching the edge of her ill-conceiv'd laws;
And awake noisy Mirth, in her echoing cells,
By ringing a change with the dramatic bells;
He is wrong, and had better forego the attempt,
As 'tis slippery ground, where a fall breeds contempt:
Bid him marshall his cloth by the size of his coat,
And discreetly repeat what the author has wrote.
'Tis the toil of a master to sport with the strings
Of the eloquent lyre, when Melody sings;
And to seize, yet not sully, Diversity's Throne,
Is Edwin's department, and—Edwin's alone.

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'Twas bestow'd him by Heaven, to abrogate laws,
Which were modell'd by Woe, in Despondency's cause;
And his arts, like the bow of Ulysses, have tried him,
As they're us'd with effect by no mortal beside him.

But I mean not to wound, by ungenerous lays,
For there are who repine when the feat deserves praise.
E'en the laural-clad Murphy has felt their foul dart,
Tho' supremely adorn'd—in his head and his heart;
With a singular zeal they directed the blow,
Tho' he rose like Antæus, new-brac'd to his foe;
For his wit like the steel, by attraction made strong,
Had gather'd the lightning of Hate round his song;
Tho' all-furious it blaz'd, still his works are untomb'd,
And his name lives untainted, his verse unconsum'd.
When Candour assumes the dominion of men,
And Truth marks those beauties which flow'd from his pen;

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When that muscle is worn, which once smil'd when dismay'd
And the long-hidden fangs by Destruction betray'd;
When the pallid Malevoli sink into dust,
And the heart's serious voice bids the action be just;
When Oblivion secretes the base party-bought rhyme,
And the points of their malice are blunted by Time;
Then Phœbus shall cherish that theme he inspir'd,
And his worth shall be deathless, his numbers admir'd;
Then Fame's best encomium, sweet Bard, shall be thine,
And Memory's offspring embrace thy cold shrine.