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Horace in London

Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith]
Smith, Horace (1779-1849)

collapse sectionI. 
BOOK I.
 I. 
ODE I. To John Bull, Esq.
 II. 
ODE II. HURLY BURLY!
 III. 
ODE III. THE BARONET'S YACHT.
 IV. 
ODE IV. BRIGHTON.
 V. 
ODE V. THE JILT.
 VI. 
ODE VI. WALTER SCOTT.
 VII. 
ODE VII. THE OUSTED TREASURER.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. To HUNTINGDON, the Preacher.
 IX. 
ODE IX. WINTER.
 X. 
ODE X. TRIBUTARY STANZAS to GRIMALDI THE CLOWN.
 XI. 
ODE XI. FORTUNE TELLING.
 XII. 
ODE XII. To Emanuel Swedenborg.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. THE JEALOUS LOVER.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV. To Mr. KEMBLE,
 XV. 
ODE XV. THE PARTHENON.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI. The EDINBURGH REVIEWERS.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII. THE WELCH COTTAGE.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII. MERRY AND WISE.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX. PLEASING PETULANCE.
 XX. 
ODE XX. THE BARD'S BANQUET.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. THE BAILIFF.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII. CUPID'S INVITATION.
 XXIV. 
ODE XXIV. HORNE TOOKE's EPITAPH.
 XXV. 
ODE XXV. MY GODWIN!
 XXVI. 
ODE XXVI. THE STRAW BONNET.
 XXVII. 
ODE XXVII. THE BUMPER TOAST.
 XXVIII. 
ODE XXVIII. LUCRETIUS AND DR. BUSBY.
 XXIX. 
ODE XXIX. The TERMAGANT.
 XXX. 
ODE XXX. PRIVATE BOXES.
 XXXI. 
ODE XXXI. TO APOLLO.
 XXXII. 
ODE XXXII. To the COMIC MUSE.
 XXXIII. 
ODE XXXIII. CROSS PURPOSES.
 XXXIV. 
ODE XXXIV. CŒLEBS IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
 XXXV. 
ODE XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
ODE XXXVI. THE GAOL DELIVERY.
 XXXVII. 
ODE XXXVII. LOB'S POUND.
 XXXVIII. 
ODE XXXVIII. THE BILL OF FARE.
expand sectionII. 
BOOK II.

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63

ODE XVI. The EDINBURGH REVIEWERS.

O Matre pulcra filia pulchrior.

O rigorous sons of a clime more severe
If Horace in London offend,
Unbought let him perish, unread disappear,
But, ah! do not hasten his end.
Not whisker'd Geramb who veracity braves
In boasting of princely delights,
Not Rowland, when thumping the cushion he raves,
Of Beelzebub's capering sprites,
Are mad as the Martyr inviting the whips
Of poesy's merciless reign;
Who like Mrs. Brownrigg her 'prentices strips,
Then kills them with famine and pain.
64

'Tis said when the box of Pandora flew ope,
A treasure was found underneath:
It seem'd to the vulgar a figure of Hope,
To poets a laureat wreath.
'Twas this ignis fatuus tempting to roam,
That lighted poor Burns to his fate;
That bade him abandon his plough and his home
To starve amid cities and state.
Me, too, has the treacherous phantom inspir'd
In moments of youthful delight;
With lyric presumption my bosom has fir'd,
To imitate Horace's might.
Repentant, henceforth, I will write like a dunce
In prose all the rest of my life,
If you, dread dissectors, will spare me this once
The smart of your critical knife.
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