Poems by the celebrated translator of Virgil's Aeneid Together with The Jordan, a poem in imitation of Spenser, by --- ---, Esq [i.e. Christopher Pitt] |
 |
PENDENT OPERA INTERRUPTA.
FRAGMENTS OF A Rhapsody on the Art of Preaching. |
 | Poems by the celebrated translator of Virgil's Aeneid |  |
20
PENDENT OPERA INTERRUPTA.
FRAGMENTS OF A Rhapsody on the Art of Preaching.
In Imitation of some Parts of Horace's Art of Poetry.
Should some fam'd Hand in this fantastic Age,
Draw Rich, as Rich appears upon the Stage,
With all his Postures in one motley Plan,
The God, the Hound, the Monkey, and the Man,
Here o'er his Head high-brandishing a Leg;
And there just hatch'd and breaking from his Egg;
While Monster crowds on Monster thro' the Piece,
Who could help laughing at a Sight like this?
Or as a Drunkard's Dream together brings
A Court of Coblers, or a Mob of Kings,
Such is a Sermon, where confus'dly dark
Join Sharp, South, Sherlock, Barrow, Wake and Clarke:
So Eggs of diff'rent Parishes will run
To Batter, when you beat six Yolks to one:
So six bright Chymic Liquors when you mix,
In one dark Shadow vanish all the six.
Draw Rich, as Rich appears upon the Stage,
With all his Postures in one motley Plan,
The God, the Hound, the Monkey, and the Man,
Here o'er his Head high-brandishing a Leg;
And there just hatch'd and breaking from his Egg;
While Monster crowds on Monster thro' the Piece,
Who could help laughing at a Sight like this?
21
A Court of Coblers, or a Mob of Kings,
Such is a Sermon, where confus'dly dark
Join Sharp, South, Sherlock, Barrow, Wake and Clarke:
So Eggs of diff'rent Parishes will run
To Batter, when you beat six Yolks to one:
So six bright Chymic Liquors when you mix,
In one dark Shadow vanish all the six.
Full Licence Priests and Painters ever had
To run bold Lengths; but never to run mad;
For these can't reconcile God's Grace to Sin,
Nor these paint Tygers in an Ass's Skin.
No common Dauber in one Piece would join
The Fox and Goose,—unless upon a Sign.
To run bold Lengths; but never to run mad;
For these can't reconcile God's Grace to Sin,
Nor these paint Tygers in an Ass's Skin.
No common Dauber in one Piece would join
The Fox and Goose,—unless upon a Sign.
Some steal a Page of Sense from Tillotson,
And then conclude divinely with their own:
Like Oil on Water mounts the Prelate up;
His Grace is always sure to be a-top;
That Vein of Mercury its Beams will spread
And shine more strongly thro' a Mine of Lead:
With such low Arts your Audience never bilk;
For who can bear a Fustian lin'd with Silk?
And then conclude divinely with their own:
Like Oil on Water mounts the Prelate up;
His Grace is always sure to be a-top;
22
And shine more strongly thro' a Mine of Lead:
With such low Arts your Audience never bilk;
For who can bear a Fustian lin'd with Silk?
Your Priests who vary Matters o'er and o'er,
Hang Bells in Isles, and Organs in the Tow'r.
I've known a Priest to mighty Things pretend,
His three Divisions with Success he penn'd;
Then aim'd at no Conclusion—but the End.
Sooner than preach such Stuff, I'd walk the Town,
Without my Scarf in Whiston's daggled Gown,
Ply at the Chapter, and at Child's to read
For Pence, or bury for a Groat a Head.
Nay, I would go to Tyburn with Content;
Or worse—I'd hear old Guthrey ere I went.
Hang Bells in Isles, and Organs in the Tow'r.
I've known a Priest to mighty Things pretend,
His three Divisions with Success he penn'd;
Then aim'd at no Conclusion—but the End.
Sooner than preach such Stuff, I'd walk the Town,
Without my Scarf in Whiston's daggled Gown,
Ply at the Chapter, and at Child's to read
For Pence, or bury for a Groat a Head.
Nay, I would go to Tyburn with Content;
Or worse—I'd hear old Guthrey ere I went.
Some easy Subject chuse, within your Power,
Or you can never hold out half an Hour.
Or you can never hold out half an Hour.
One Rule observe, this Sunday split your Text,
Preach one part now, and t'other half the next.
Preach not too long; let your Divisions be
Not more than Sev'n, and seldom less than Three.
Preach one part now, and t'other half the next.
23
Not more than Sev'n, and seldom less than Three.
Speak, look, and move, with Dignity, and Ease,
Like mitred Secker; you'll be sure to please.
But if you whine like Boys in Country Schools,
Can you be said to study Cambray's Rules?
Begin with Care, nor like that Curate vile
Set out in this high-prancing, stumbling Stile;
“Whoever with a piercing Eye can see
“Thro' the past Records of Futurity.”
All gape—no Meaning—the puft Orator
Talks much, and says just nothing for an Hour.
Truth and the Text he labours to display,
Till both are quite interpreted away:
So frugal Dames insipid Water pour,
Till Green, Bohea, and Coffee, are no more.
His Arguments in giddy Circles run
Still round and round, and end where they begun:
So the poor Turnspit, as the Wheel runs round,
The more he gains the more he loses Ground.
Surpriz'd with solitary Self-Applause,
He sees the motley mingled Scene he draws:
Dutch Painters thus at their own Figures start,
Drawn with their utmost uncreating Art:
Thus when old Bruin teems, her Children fail
Of Limbs, Form, Figure, Features, Head, or Tail;
Nay tho' she licks her Cubs, her tender Cares
At best can bring the Bruins but to Bears.
Like mitred Secker; you'll be sure to please.
But if you whine like Boys in Country Schools,
Can you be said to study Cambray's Rules?
Begin with Care, nor like that Curate vile
Set out in this high-prancing, stumbling Stile;
“Whoever with a piercing Eye can see
“Thro' the past Records of Futurity.”
All gape—no Meaning—the puft Orator
Talks much, and says just nothing for an Hour.
Truth and the Text he labours to display,
Till both are quite interpreted away:
So frugal Dames insipid Water pour,
Till Green, Bohea, and Coffee, are no more.
His Arguments in giddy Circles run
Still round and round, and end where they begun:
24
The more he gains the more he loses Ground.
Surpriz'd with solitary Self-Applause,
He sees the motley mingled Scene he draws:
Dutch Painters thus at their own Figures start,
Drawn with their utmost uncreating Art:
Thus when old Bruin teems, her Children fail
Of Limbs, Form, Figure, Features, Head, or Tail;
Nay tho' she licks her Cubs, her tender Cares
At best can bring the Bruins but to Bears.
Still to your Hearers all your Sermons sort,
Who'd preach against Corruption at the Court?
Against Church-Pow'r at Visitations bawl?
Or talk about Damnation at Whitehall?
Harangue the Horse-Guards on a Cure of Souls?
Condemn the Quirks of Chancery at the Rolls?
Or rail at Hoods and Organs in Saint Paul's?
Or be like David Jones so indiscreet,
To rave at Usurers in Lombard Street?
Who'd preach against Corruption at the Court?
Against Church-Pow'r at Visitations bawl?
Or talk about Damnation at Whitehall?
Harangue the Horse-Guards on a Cure of Souls?
Condemn the Quirks of Chancery at the Rolls?
Or rail at Hoods and Organs in Saint Paul's?
Or be like David Jones so indiscreet,
To rave at Usurers in Lombard Street?
25
Ye Country Vicars, when you preach in Town
A turn at Paul's to pay your Journey down,
If you would shun the Sneer of every Prig,
Lay by the little Band, and rusty Wig;
But yet besure your proper Language know,
Nor talk as born within the Sound of Bow;
Speak not the Phrase that Drury-Lane affords,
Nor from Change-Alley steal a Cant of Words;
Coachmen will criticise your Stile, nay further,
Porters will bring it in for wilful Murder;
The Dregs of the Canaille will look askew,
To hear the Language of the Town from you.
Nay—my Lord Mayor, with Merriment possest,
Shall break his Nap, and laugh among the rest,
And jog the Aldermen to hear the Jest.
A turn at Paul's to pay your Journey down,
If you would shun the Sneer of every Prig,
Lay by the little Band, and rusty Wig;
But yet besure your proper Language know,
Nor talk as born within the Sound of Bow;
Speak not the Phrase that Drury-Lane affords,
Nor from Change-Alley steal a Cant of Words;
Coachmen will criticise your Stile, nay further,
Porters will bring it in for wilful Murder;
The Dregs of the Canaille will look askew,
To hear the Language of the Town from you.
Nay—my Lord Mayor, with Merriment possest,
Shall break his Nap, and laugh among the rest,
And jog the Aldermen to hear the Jest.
| Poems by the celebrated translator of Virgil's Aeneid | |