A serio-comic and admonitory epistle, addressed to a certain priest With a grave, solemn, and sublime epistle, addressed to certain critics. With an amatory ode to Eliza. To which is prefixed, An address to the reader, Respecting some late Conduct of the Rev. C---- B----, Curate of W----;. By Anthony Pasquin |
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POEM. |
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 | A serio-comic and admonitory epistle, addressed to a certain priest |  |
POEM.
“Incipe Mænalios mecum mea tibia versus.”
Virgil.
Virgil.
Genius of Pindar! bard sublime!
Whose various, well-tun'd lays
Can mirthful laughter raise.
Whose pleasing, well-form'd, rhyme,
When old dame grief is drawing nigh,
With rugged brow and scowling eye,
Dispels the hagard sprite, and raises us to joy!
Whose various, well-tun'd lays
Can mirthful laughter raise.
Whose pleasing, well-form'd, rhyme,
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With rugged brow and scowling eye,
Dispels the hagard sprite, and raises us to joy!
Vouchsafe I thee implore,
To lend thy mighty aid to one,
Who sends his little vessel off from shore,
And sails for that fair mount, ycleped Helicon.
To lend thy mighty aid to one,
Who sends his little vessel off from shore,
And sails for that fair mount, ycleped Helicon.
A puny imitator I, no more than thee;
At Pindar's fount of old I love to drink:
And if thou tak'st his name; why pray let me
Attend the band;—at least sit on the brink
Of that clear stream, of which the bard of old
Drank such intoxicating draughts, that he
To most seem'd drunk;—but daring sure and bold!
At Pindar's fount of old I love to drink:
And if thou tak'st his name; why pray let me
Attend the band;—at least sit on the brink
Of that clear stream, of which the bard of old
Drank such intoxicating draughts, that he
To most seem'd drunk;—but daring sure and bold!
Pindar! thy sire in lofty strains,
Of mighty heroes us'd to speak in praise:
Thou bestow'st thy toil and pains
On subjects of less weight; and my weak lays
On subjects yet still less descend to speak.—
But father Homer you well know,
Had not his mouth so very nice,
But he his dignity aside would throw,
And sing a pretty tale about the frogs and mice.
Of mighty heroes us'd to speak in praise:
Thou bestow'st thy toil and pains
On subjects of less weight; and my weak lays
On subjects yet still less descend to speak.—
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Had not his mouth so very nice,
But he his dignity aside would throw,
And sing a pretty tale about the frogs and mice.
Thus have these tiny creatures gain'd much glory,
By being mention'd in old Homer's story.
So, like this bard, I have a mighty mind,
To sing about a creature of as small a kind.
By being mention'd in old Homer's story.
So, like this bard, I have a mighty mind,
To sing about a creature of as small a kind.
Hector, Achilles, and those great, tall men,
Did not alone employ old Homer's pen.
To such he would not empty all his rhyme:—
This seemeth thy taste, Peter, and 'tis mine.
Did not alone employ old Homer's pen.
To such he would not empty all his rhyme:—
This seemeth thy taste, Peter, and 'tis mine.
People of great and high degree,
Such as are call'd your folks of quality,
We cannot always be among.
Ulysses, as you know, was much inclin'd,
To see the various manners of mankind,
As many poets tell us in their song.
Such as are call'd your folks of quality,
We cannot always be among.
Ulysses, as you know, was much inclin'd,
To see the various manners of mankind,
As many poets tell us in their song.
Thus, Peter, 'tis with us I ween,
Sometimes with great men; now with less we're seen.
Now with a duke;—now on the verdant grass,
At harmless sport with some kind, yielding, beauty.
A poet's nature is but frail:—alass,
What whip or spur can keep us to our duty!
Sometimes with great men; now with less we're seen.
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At harmless sport with some kind, yielding, beauty.
A poet's nature is but frail:—alass,
What whip or spur can keep us to our duty!
Priests I respect, when they respect do merit,
But to their faults I shew not any love.
Let them be learn'd, possess a generous spirit,
And pious be;—who then will not approve?
But to their faults I shew not any love.
Let them be learn'd, possess a generous spirit,
And pious be;—who then will not approve?
To thee, great priest, my verse I dedicate,
And should it have the happy fate,
Thy taste to please; thy future laureat I
Will make thy praise resound beyond the sky.
What royal pension'd poet can do more!
Freely this verse extends thy name,
And mighty fame,
Further than Afric's distant shore,
Or Morven's dreary coast, where mountains high do tow'r.
And should it have the happy fate,
Thy taste to please; thy future laureat I
Will make thy praise resound beyond the sky.
What royal pension'd poet can do more!
Freely this verse extends thy name,
And mighty fame,
Further than Afric's distant shore,
Or Morven's dreary coast, where mountains high do tow'r.
His post when good Erasmus honourably fill'd,
By every man it then was thought,
That priests, who others taught,
Should be themselves in learning somewhat skill'd.
By every man it then was thought,
That priests, who others taught,
Should be themselves in learning somewhat skill'd.
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But now the scene seems chang'd; and any paltry wight,
Who can just read, and cannot write,
O shameful! may the Church invade;
The priesthood's made a farce; religion's made a trade.
Who can just read, and cannot write,
O shameful! may the Church invade;
The priesthood's made a farce; religion's made a trade.
See from the army the deserter comes,
And mounts the pulpit;—horrid to behold!
But still more horrid! see the man of wealth,
Who has ordination got by stealth,
Put on the gown, and eager seize the gold!
And mounts the pulpit;—horrid to behold!
But still more horrid! see the man of wealth,
Who has ordination got by stealth,
Put on the gown, and eager seize the gold!
Thus men religion sell!—to them naught's evil:
They'd even sell themselves unto the Devil,
Would he but give a proper price;
And in this thing they'd not be over nice;
But soon a bargain would be made.—
Such dealings are their pleasure;—such their trade!
They'd even sell themselves unto the Devil,
Would he but give a proper price;
And in this thing they'd not be over nice;
But soon a bargain would be made.—
Such dealings are their pleasure;—such their trade!
Judas! thou wert by many thought a knave,
Yet honest thou compar'd to such a man!
Shame that the wretch, to paltry wealth a slave,
Should, licensed, rob the Church, and glory in the plan!
Yet honest thou compar'd to such a man!
Shame that the wretch, to paltry wealth a slave,
Should, licensed, rob the Church, and glory in the plan!
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How bold, and much more honest, are the men,
Who scorning such a crafty part to act;
Nor do the sacred name of priest defile,
To hide their guilt, and clothe their guile,
But openly and boldly do the fact;
And rob the Church, as thieves by night
Break in a house, and rob and steal downright.
Who scorning such a crafty part to act;
Nor do the sacred name of priest defile,
To hide their guilt, and clothe their guile,
But openly and boldly do the fact;
And rob the Church, as thieves by night
Break in a house, and rob and steal downright.
These then are bold:—in sin they do not falter;
Nor do they slily say; don't fear,
My coat is black like yours, and piety brought me here.
Sly rogues! who dare to use religion's name,
That they may rob the Church, and thus may hide their shame.
If those poor rogues are hang'd;—oh! how these want the halter.
Nor do they slily say; don't fear,
My coat is black like yours, and piety brought me here.
Sly rogues! who dare to use religion's name,
That they may rob the Church, and thus may hide their shame.
If those poor rogues are hang'd;—oh! how these want the halter.
When Churches are thus bad supported under,
Well may the steeples crack, and tumble down.
Well may they in their anger burst asunder,
To see themselves the jest of every clown!
Well may the steeples crack, and tumble down.
Well may they in their anger burst asunder,
To see themselves the jest of every clown!
But, Boram, I don't call you one of these:
The university I know full well
Was honour'd by thee; and the bell
For dinner that so sweetly chimes,
When hungry students after labour great,
As well as reading, love sometimes to eat,
Was rung by thee, and rung so many times.
The university I know full well
Was honour'd by thee; and the bell
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When hungry students after labour great,
As well as reading, love sometimes to eat,
Was rung by thee, and rung so many times.
But as to Latin harsh, and Greek more dull,
We know with these thou never plagu'dst thy skull;
But when the bell was left at ease,
We know among the mighty great,
The cook and scullion of the college,
From whom thou reapest much important knowledge,
Thou us'dst to sit in friendly tête á tête.
We know with these thou never plagu'dst thy skull;
But when the bell was left at ease,
We know among the mighty great,
The cook and scullion of the college,
From whom thou reapest much important knowledge,
Thou us'dst to sit in friendly tête á tête.
But, Boram, could you write, it would be better,
A shocking thing it is, and gives me pain,
That naughty scribblers dare to send a letter,
And you, good man, not send them one again.
A shocking thing it is, and gives me pain,
That naughty scribblers dare to send a letter,
And you, good man, not send them one again.
As Trustler, honest man, to make poor persons easy,
Who cannot sermons write, and help the lazy,
A 'factory keeps where sermons soon are made;
(Wholesale and retail too's his trade,)
Where any idle parson in the nation,
May suit himself for any occasion;
Whatever too may be his station,
He'll sermons find, and cut to every fashion.
Who cannot sermons write, and help the lazy,
A 'factory keeps where sermons soon are made;
(Wholesale and retail too's his trade,)
Where any idle parson in the nation,
May suit himself for any occasion;
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He'll sermons find, and cut to every fashion.
So can't you on some handy author hit
Who'll teach you how to write your letters?
Thus you'll gain credit for your wit,
And teach all saucy rascals how to know their betters.
Who'll teach you how to write your letters?
Thus you'll gain credit for your wit,
And teach all saucy rascals how to know their betters.
Then too your servants you need not invite,
To help you out, when you yourself can't write.
Nor need you, like a flogg'd child, puling cry,
See, gentlemen, see, how such a man I
Am served by every wicked creature;—
See what bad letters I receive;—
I know you never will believe,
That I, who live at B--- house,
Am made to tremble every feature,
Just as a cat does terrify a mouse.
And that by any wicked wight,
Who takes his pen, and dares to write.
To help you out, when you yourself can't write.
Nor need you, like a flogg'd child, puling cry,
See, gentlemen, see, how such a man I
Am served by every wicked creature;—
See what bad letters I receive;—
I know you never will believe,
That I, who live at B--- house,
Am made to tremble every feature,
Just as a cat does terrify a mouse.
And that by any wicked wight,
Who takes his pen, and dares to write.
But lo! the scene is changed! see the great man at study,
Rubbing his pate as 'tho' a little muddy,
Or else to shew the working of his brains,
That like the mountain, as the fables go,
When once in labour great,
Striving to do some mighty feat.
But after all its heavy pains,
Brought forth a tiny creeping mouse.
Thus Boram strove to astonish all the house,
By this unusual and surprising work.
Rubbing his pate as 'tho' a little muddy,
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That like the mountain, as the fables go,
When once in labour great,
Striving to do some mighty feat.
But after all its heavy pains,
Brought forth a tiny creeping mouse.
Thus Boram strove to astonish all the house,
By this unusual and surprising work.
See, see, oh wonderful! his eyes upon a book;
Not even Newton more intent could look;
The wonders of the sky when trying to unravel,
Or following a comet in its travel!
Not even Newton more intent could look;
The wonders of the sky when trying to unravel,
Or following a comet in its travel!
Bacon of yore you might have thought it was,
Striving to make a head brass
Speak and be civil:
Only that wicked sprite the Devil
Or fate contrived it, for 'tis said,
He look'd himself much like a brazen-head.
Striving to make a head brass
Speak and be civil:
Only that wicked sprite the Devil
Or fate contrived it, for 'tis said,
He look'd himself much like a brazen-head.
He rings the bell; his servants all attend,
And crowd into the room of state,
Where Boram, like a mighty censor, sat:
And first with low humility they bend.
Obeisance made; with due respect and fear
They sit; the dictates of their lord to hear.
And crowd into the room of state,
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And first with low humility they bend.
Obeisance made; with due respect and fear
They sit; the dictates of their lord to hear.
Thus have I seen in pantry, hall, or entry,
Grimalkin o'er a mouse-hole standing sentry.
With watching eye, and with attentive air
She sits;—so still, she does not move a hair.
Listening of a poor mouse to hear the breath,
Then, cruel, sends it to the realms of death.
Grimalkin o'er a mouse-hole standing sentry.
With watching eye, and with attentive air
She sits;—so still, she does not move a hair.
Listening of a poor mouse to hear the breath,
Then, cruel, sends it to the realms of death.
Such and so still the gaping audience sat,
To hear the priest begin the great debate.
Fear and attention occupi'd them all;—
Did a pin drop; you'd plainly hear it fall.
To hear the priest begin the great debate.
Fear and attention occupi'd them all;—
Did a pin drop; you'd plainly hear it fall.
Toby sat first; with fearful looking eye
He view'd his master, as though dreading evil:
Trembling lest he some monster soon should spy,
Thinking the priest was going to raise the Devil.
He view'd his master, as though dreading evil:
Trembling lest he some monster soon should spy,
Thinking the priest was going to raise the Devil.
For Toby oft had heard it said
That learned men could raise the dead!
Such power o'er Satan had,—oh mighty thing!
They'd make him dance a hornpipe in a ring.
And had he seen the chalk but on the table,
To keep his seat poor Toby 'd not be able!
No wonder than he sat with staring eye;
And scarcely kept his breeches dry.
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That learned men could raise the dead!
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They'd make him dance a hornpipe in a ring.
And had he seen the chalk but on the table,
To keep his seat poor Toby 'd not be able!
No wonder than he sat with staring eye;
And scarcely kept his breeches dry.
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| A serio-comic and admonitory epistle, addressed to a certain priest | |