University of Virginia Library

THE ARGUMENT OF THE WORK.

The poet begins by paying his respects (as becometh him) to the reverend, sage, and great critics;—to the sapient and well-skilled old maids, &c. &c. which composed the grand council which was summoned by Boram to sit in judgement on two straggling, unfortunate, but inoffensive, letters; which however had given Boram great and terrible alarm.—Equal alarm, gentle reader, as tho' they had been a warrant, or had proclaimed the rough voice of those birds of justice, vulgarly ycleped bum-bailiffs.—He addresseth these mighty personages in a grave, solemn, and sublime epistle, done in the poet's best manner.—He humbly remonstrates with them (who are qualified to sit in the highest chair of criticism), on the demeaning themselves so much as to even deign to look at such little miscarriages—such trifling productions of an author's pen, as private letters.—Such great people attacking these weak things, is like a parcel of crows and hawks devouring the harmless carcase of a poor little wren.—These great censors exhort Boram to take no notice of these things.—Commend their own learning, but don't like to shew it, except on grave and great occasions. “Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus inciderit” says Horace, and so it seems think they.

They desire the priest when he goes to shew Lord---the offending Letters, and to request his interference and chastisement of the daring author, that he would at the same time remind him of B---kl---w living, which the priest thinks very long in coming to him.—The ill-nature of the incumbent noticed in being so long-winded, and not civilly departing this life to please his superiors.—The Pope and the Devil. A new and sure method to hasten the departure of the present possessor of this living, and to ensure it to the man of B--- house.

Next follows an Exordium, in which is given a poetical account of the hero of the

ensuing tale. It may indeed be properly entitul'd, the Curate become Rector; a Vision, or Trance. And truly it is a trance of no common nature, as it has already continued many years, and is still likely to continue, unless indeed some medicines of the refrigerant and antispasmodic kind, are soon administered; which may probably relieve him from this dire and afflicting disorder. A pretty allusion to a bladder full of wind. A comparison of a jack-daw full of noise and nonsence.

The chief poem then opens with a solemn invocation to the genius of Pindar to assist the bard in this grave undertaking.—He invokes however not the Theban bard of old, who used to mount on the wings of an eagle, and soon get out of people's sight; but the merry Bard of Britain, who rides indeed a prancinge Pgasus, but one with whom we may keep company.

The poet compareth himself to Homer singing of frogs and mice, as his subject may perhaps be deemed equally important. He professeth great respect for priests, when they behave like such. Speaketh angrily, yet with his usual wit, of a new way of robbing the Church or committing sacrilege; namely, by putting on a black coat and becoming a clergyman, as it were, surreptitiously. The poet here supposeth, by the bye, that this practice is not likely to become very general, as the qualifications requisite are not in every common person's possession;—such as an extraordinary degree of impudence, and a great share of—piety! Reader, you understand Rhetoric, and can tell when a poet or an orator makes use of Rhetorical figures.—If a man departs somewhat from plain speech, you'll not therefore mistake his meaning.—The cause of Churches tumbling down, and steeples cracking, sagaciously explained.

The poet proceeds to tell his friend Boram that a little learning might be useful, were it only to make common people think that he was possessed of a great deal. As a cunning man with only a few shillings in his pocket would make people think he had as many guineas. He would have him especially learn to write a letter, as it looks rather aukward in one who has stumbled, through unlucky stars, on ordination, not to be able to return an answer to a letter or note when he receives one.

Pasquin seriously recommends it to him to procure a book called the polite Letter-Writer; or otherwise to permit one of his servants to dictate letters to him.

Boram all at once astonishes his servants with a sudden and miraculous display of the profoundest knowledge, in a learned criticism upon a book written by one of his neighbours.

—The poet talketh of friar Bacon and his brazen head. Would fain have likened his hero to the former, but his muse, who would not permit him to tell a lie, compares him to the latter. The servants summon'd to the lecture. A pretty simile of a cat and a mouse. A new character introduced, namely, his faithful servant Toby.—Toby suspecteth the priest is going to raise the devil, and is not a little frighten'd. The beginning of the lecture however dispels all his fears. His servants stare at their master's seeming critical sagacity, and an old woman is so enraptured at his deep disquisions on the Greek quotations contained in that work, that by an unlucky inundation from above, she wets Boram's best Parlour floor.—Boram is angry, and damneth her. The poet exhorteth him to patience.—Boram swears again, and by this unluckly accident a stop is put to his critical harangue.

Pasquin talks of Dawes, Hoogeveen, Bentley, Monboddo, and Burgess.—Likeneth Boram to these great men in Greek literature. Laugheth at their shallowness compared to Boram's profoundity. Wonders how a lord, like Monboddo, can descend to become learned, as learning is by no means fashionable among lords and great men.

The poet returns again to Boram. Discourses with him about pies and tarts, and the best way of making sillabubs.—Boram's vast knowledge in these matters commended.

A dialogue between Boram and a washer-woman in the Brewhouse concerning caps, gowns, and other deep matters. Boram telleth her a melancholy tale how a certain person who sent him a few years ago a printed letter which he could not answer, had like by this to have drove him mad, and made him almost kill his horse by riding him to lawyers and counsellors to punish him. Telleth her how this same man has lately sent him a couple of letters, which he was unable to answer.—She expresseth great surprise at this, as he had lately shewn himself so learned in commenting upon Greek. Boram maketh her his confidant: ingenuously telleth her that he knows no more of Greek and Latin than she does. Always hates in company to hear them mentioned.—Not being able to answer these notes, he tells her, how like a school boy that has been flogged, he runs crying about, and shews them to every one he meets with, in hopes that some one may dictate or write for him an answer.—But no one having done him this kindness, Boram puts to the door, pulls out pen and ink, and begs the good woman to write something for him.—The good lady complies: Scribbles a letter. Boram seals it up as his own.

Here Boram again repeats to the old lady his history. Talks of his vast riches. Proves the ridiculousness and untruth of the saying, ex nihilo nihil fit; for out of nothing he createth a great deal. Boasts of his having been at College. The poet

here introduceth a simile of a calf that suck'd a full-milk'd cow, but never became a bit the better for it. Talketh of the folly of sowing good seed in bad soil; with other deep and grave reflections. Boram remembereth to forget, as usual, to mention his office of clerk and bell-ringer, when he was at college; which the poet kindly mentions for him. He tells her (what indeed he had often told her before,) how great a man he is, and how much greater he soon shall be! Damns all the parish as a plebeian, vulgar race, and not fit to keep him company.—The poet hinteth to him how kind they once were, when they covered for him his naked back. Boram damneth. Pasquin prayeth. The washer-woman intercedeth; but Boram departeth in wrath.

Boram being full of the irascible fluid, like a cloud, over loaded with the electric, discharges it on the first objects he meets with; which happens, unluckily for the poor man, to be his faithful and honest servant Toby.—He tells Toby he's a bastard. Toby sensibly perceiving that his master was in one of his periodical ravings, calmly replieth, that his mother knew that matter best. That he himself had no hand at all in the operation. And that if his mother had a mind to try the strength of his father's powder, before his father had taken out a certificate for shooting, whatever game they might hit, he could not be answerable for. Or if their appetites were keen, and they could not wait while grace was said, before they fell to, theirs was the blame, and not his. Boram upon this waxeth still more wrath. The poet trembles for the fate of Toby. Gently toucheth the priest's elbow, and reminds him of what philosophy saith respecting anger.— Mentions Epictetus. Boram damneth Epictetus, and before he was aware, says (what indeed was very true!) that he never read a line of him in his life.—He giveth Toby a cuff. This raiseth Toby's anger; and Toby telleth him something about killing a hare of a Sunday.—This giveth occasion to the poet to introduce a most beautiful episode, which Homer might have inserted in his Iliad, containing the life and adventures of the above hare.—This unlucky assertion of Toby, had liked however to have cost Boram very dear; for raising himself suddenly up to give a more than ordinary vent to his anger,—he strikes his head against the mantel-piece.—Fate, or the density of his pericranium; or perhaps fate might have nothing at all to do in the matter, for it is probable that his wig has here all the merit;—saved his head from the dire stroke.—The curls being by this deranged, causeth Boram to depart to put them again in their proper order. This of course puts an end to the story.

The poet desireth the learned and mighty critics, the grave and sage reviewers, not to forget to mention his excellent art in interweaving after the manner of the great poets, his predecessors, Homer and Virgil, the former history of his hero, by way of Episode.— The poet commendeth himself, and then concludes.