The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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Answer to a scurrilous, obscene Poem, entitled, An Epistle from Mrs
Robinson
to
Senesino.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
Answer to a scurrilous, obscene Poem, entitled, An Epistle from Mrs Robinson to Senesino.
From thy loose lines, I turn my eyes away,
Nor know, o'erspread with blushes, what to say:
The modest muses, wounded, by thy strain,
For me, and for themselves, do thus complain.
Nor know, o'erspread with blushes, what to say:
The modest muses, wounded, by thy strain,
For me, and for themselves, do thus complain.
O thou! our country's folly and expence!
Dull foe to Tragedy and God-like sense!
Too long mean, mercenary shade, too long,
Has't thou these Isles inchanted with thy song.
Musick's soft God unbinds the charm, he rais'd,
He blest thy tongue, and while he blest, we prais'd:
By thee polluted, he disclaims his choice,
And will no longer warble in thy voice.
His trembling notes, where melting softness hung,
And every grace, will seek a chaster tongue.
No more, the lover shall thy song repeat,
No more, the fair one sigh—'Tis wondrous sweet!
Dull foe to Tragedy and God-like sense!
Too long mean, mercenary shade, too long,
Has't thou these Isles inchanted with thy song.
Musick's soft God unbinds the charm, he rais'd,
He blest thy tongue, and while he blest, we prais'd:
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And will no longer warble in thy voice.
His trembling notes, where melting softness hung,
And every grace, will seek a chaster tongue.
No more, the lover shall thy song repeat,
No more, the fair one sigh—'Tis wondrous sweet!
Oh! guilty Senesino! thou, no more,
Shalt bravo! bravo! hear—or loud encore.
The loose and dull, shall all thy audience be;
The chaste and witty shall resent for me.
All unattended shall thy aukward form,
To sad, uncrowded scenes, or whine, or storm.
Thy wretched ha—shall unapplauded, grow,
And ill-plac'd bays fall, with'ring from thy brow.
Know, Songster, Julius, Godlike chief disdains
Thy shrill, unnatural, ungraceful, strains:
With rage redoubled, Pompey's ghost must burn,
To find such tears profane his sacred urn.
Shalt bravo! bravo! hear—or loud encore.
The loose and dull, shall all thy audience be;
The chaste and witty shall resent for me.
All unattended shall thy aukward form,
To sad, uncrowded scenes, or whine, or storm.
Thy wretched ha—shall unapplauded, grow,
And ill-plac'd bays fall, with'ring from thy brow.
Know, Songster, Julius, Godlike chief disdains
Thy shrill, unnatural, ungraceful, strains:
With rage redoubled, Pompey's ghost must burn,
To find such tears profane his sacred urn.
Remember, Echo, soon thou'lt know the time,
Stript of thy robes, thy legions, and thy rhyme;
Thou poor Machine, of mean delusive sound,
When I shall see thy temples all unbound,
And those who heroes act, like heroes, crown'd
Stript of thy robes, thy legions, and thy rhyme;
Thou poor Machine, of mean delusive sound,
When I shall see thy temples all unbound,
And those who heroes act, like heroes, crown'd
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THOU to thy famish'd Italy shalt go,
And rival Faustus, to the shades, below.
And rival Faustus, to the shades, below.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |