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Gulliveriana

or, a fourth volume of miscellanies. Being a Sequel of the Three Volumes published by Pope and Swift. To which is added, Alexanderiana; or, A Comparison between the Ecclesiastical and Poetical Pope. And many Things, in Verse and Prose, relating to the latter. With an ample Preface; and a Critique on the Third Volume of Miscellanies lately publish'd by those two facetious Writers [by Jonathan Smedley]
 

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The British Journal.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


22

The British Journal.

NUMB. CCVI.

[_]

Saturday, August 27, 1726.

[_]

We are entreated by some of our Correspondents in Dublin to publish the following Copy of Verses, which, it seems, are the Resentment of some young Authors, for a Slight put upon their Works, by a Journalist of this City: Although, in Compliance to the mentioned Request, we consent to print the ensuing Lines, yet we cannot do it without protesting, that we are no Way concerned in the Quarrel; that we design to side with neither Party; and that we don't think, with the Poet of this Composition, that 'tis fair Play to upbraid a Man with the Faults of Nature, or the Infirmities of his Constitution.

Odi profanum vulgus & arceo.
Hor.
A writer held in great Renown
By all the News-Boys of the Town.
Who ne'er (as I imagine) rose
Above the vulgar Turn of Prose,

23

Seeing so many Younkers dabble
In Poetry, to please the Rabble,
Like Æsop's Frog, with Envy swell'd,
The darling Phaetons beheld:
Nothing, it seems, with him would down,
This rais'd his Laugh, and that his Frown:
Whate'er they writ was Stuff or Fustian,
And all was sentenc'd to Combustion:
In short, Sir, not a single Cantor
Of all the Tribe escap'd his Banter.
Now having, with a deal of Pleasure,
Anatomiz'd their Rhyme and Measure,
Weigh'd every Thought, and Word, and Letter,
Thinks he, Faith, I could jingle better:
Resolv'd to put it to the Test,
How far he could excel the rest,
He whips me on his Sunday's Cloaths,
And bids adieu to Mrs. Prose.
By no Perswasion would he stay,
But to Parnassus bent his Way;

24

Where having reach'd, with due Submission,
To th'Nine, presents his poor Petition.
Miss Clio, having paus'd a while,
Return'd him Answer in this Style:
“Sir, Phœbus made a Declaration,
“'Gainst all lame Members in the Nation;
“Nor does he ever think that those
“Should run in Rhyme, who limp in Prose.
Arbuckle heard,—but heard with Anger,
And in his Heart could find to hang her:
His Nails he bites, his Breast he thumps,
And so departed in the Dumps:
But as your Bubbles game the more,
Nor yet by losing quit the Score;
So he, possess'd with double Flame,
Soon after to Parnassus came;
And, hurried on by more Ambition,
In Person backs his old Petition:

25

Begg'd, pray'd, and begg'd and pray'd again,
Us'd e'ery Tone, but all in vain.
At last, upon a certain Day,
To Phœbus, Clio takes her Way,
And flying through her heavenly Road,
Soon reach'd the Radiant God's Abode:
To whom she, after a Good-morrow,
In canting Style, express'd her Sorrow:
Told, that a Wight, yclep'd Arbuckle,
Did often to her Sisters truckle,
And turn'd Parnassus to a Stage:
“Ay! Dame, reply'd the Reverend Sage;
“By Jove I'll make that Grub-street Scraper,
“E'er I to Bed go, cut a Caper:
“He'll find, if he comes in my Clutches,
“But small Assistance from his Crutches.”

26

Eftsoons, they both like Swallows fly,
Down from Olympus thro' the Sky;
And coming near Parnassus, view'd
Our Interloper over-rude:—
In dreadful Armour rushing on,
To gain the Muses, pro or con.
But Clio, nearer now approaching,
Cry'd out, “Thou Villain, art incroaching?
“You Farthing Journalist:—Hey-day,
“Methinks you're armed Cap-a-pe!”
“Here Clio, says the angry God,
“Go get me a good Birchen Rod,
“The best you find on Mount Parnassus;
“Such Tricks as these shall never pass us.”
This done,—he lays upon his Backside,
And, doubtless, he left him a black Side.
At last, dismissing him,—“Now go,
“Still to remain in Statu quo:
“And henceforth know this Hill (he says)
“Produces Birch as well as Bays.”
 

If such Kinds of Abuse were justifiable, the Example of Sir John Suckling might excuse our Author: That Gentleman, in a Session of the Poets, written by him, makes Apollo refuse the Bays to Sir William Davenant, because, as he said, there was no Precedent of a Laureat's wanting his Nose; but these are all poor Jests, and we know by Experience, that Poetry differs in this respect from the Priesthood, since several have been admitted Brethren, and done it much Honour, whose Beauty and Proportion would not have entitled them to Holy Orders.