THE noblest object in the works of art, The farmer's comfort when he holds the plough, THE ANSWER. PAUCIS, friend Aphanus, abhinc diebus, At his request I sought for ancient city Tho' pleas'd with pleasing, when he can do so, Altho' it seem'd to ask when it appear'd, The name lay snug without the least detecture. You stand entitl'd hereupon to laugh At hapless genius in your friend Diaph. But in excuse for what he must confess, Nor men, nor even ladies here could guess; To variorum seen, or váriarum, No more of ancient city than old Sarum. One thing however rose from this occasion, It put an end to fears of French invasion; And wits, quite frighten'd out of dames and men, When rebus came, came into 'em again: Tho' little skill'd to judge of either matter, Yet the more pleasing puzzle was the latter. You'll think I'm thinking, upon second thought, That tho' we mist of city that was sought, We might have told you somewhat of the guesses Of luckless neighbours and of neighbouresses; So let us try to give you just an item: For it would take a volume to recite 'em. "I can't divine," said Chloe, " for my part, What the man means by 'noblest work of art,'From clock to temple, pyramid, and ship, And twenty diff'rent handyworks you skip; Now, I dare say, when all your votes are past, City or work-'tis Dresden at the last." "Nor I," said Phillis, "what the man can mean By his next hint of Nature's brightest sceneAmongst so many of her scenes so bright, Who can devise which of 'em is the right? To name a word where brightest scene must lie, And speak my own opinion, sirs,-'tis eye." "Peace," said a third, of I forget what sex, "Has well known signal that may well perplex; It should be olive-branch, to be well known, But rebus, unconfin'd to that alone, May mean abundance, plenty, riches, trade,— Who knows the signal that is here display'd?" Thus they went on-but, tho' I stir its embers, It is not much that memory remembers: Two ladies had a long disputing match, Whether charm-adding spot was mole or patch; While none would venture to decide the voleOne had a patch and t'other had a mole. So wife's ambition' made a parted school; Some said-to please her husband-some to rule.-On this moot point too rebus would create, As you may guess, a pretty smart debate; Till one propos'd to end it thus, with ease; "The only way to rule him-is to please." Hold! I forgot-One said, a parson's dues Was the same thing with rhyming 'badge of Jews,' And tithe was it--but corn, or pig, or goose; What earth or animals of earth produce, From calf and lamb, to turnip and potatoe, Might be the word-which he had nought to say to. Made for excuse, you see, upon the whole And make the meant one tedious to divine: For first, with due submission to my betters, Or more?-for, in the latter times, the clue From some suspicions of a bite, we guess It should contain, should this same jeu de mots, Clean-pointed turn, short, fair, and a-propos; Wit without straining; neatness without starch; Hinted, tho' hid; and decent, tho' 't is arch; No vile idea should disgrace a rebus Sic dicunt Musa, sic edicit Phœbus. This, Aphanus, tho' short of satisfaction, Is what account occurs of the transaction, Impertinent enough-but you'll excuse What your own postscript half enjoin'd the Muse: She, when she took the sudden task upon her, Believe me, did it to oblige your honour. Has provok'd a few rhymes to step forth, and But to caution young bards, if in danger to waste Here are two special terms which the sophisters mingle, To be sauce for the rest, to wit, fetters, and jingle; And, because a weak writer may chance to expose Very ill-chosen words to such phrases as those, The unthinking reflecters sit down to their rote, And pronounce against rhyme th' undistinguishing Sole original this, in the petulant school, [vote: Of its idle objections to metre, and rule. For to what other fetters are verses confin'd, Whether made up of blank, or of metrical kind? If a man has not taste for poetical lines, Can't he let them alone; and say what he designs, Upon some other points, in his unfetter'd way; And contemn, if he will, all numerical lay? But the fashion, forsooth, must affect the sublime, The grand, the pathetic, and rail against rhyme. Blank verse is the thing-tho', whoever tries Will find of its fetters a plentiful growth; [both, Many chains to be needful to measure his ground, And keep the sublime within requisite bound: If a laudable product in rhyme should, perhaps, Extort an applause from these exquisite chaps, They express it so shily, for fear of a fetter"Had the rhyme been neglected, it would have been better."— And so they begin with their jingle (or rattle, As some of them call it) the delicate battle; "The sense must be cramp'd," they cry out, "to be sure, By the nature of rhyme, and be render'd obscure:" As if blank, by its grandeur, and magnifi'd pause, Was secure in its freedom from any such flaws; Tho' so apt, in bad hands, to give readers offence, By the rattling of sound, and the darkness of sense. All the arguments form'd, as they prose it along, And twist them and twine, against metrical song, Presuppose the poor maker to be but a dunce; For, if that be not true, they all vanish at once: If it be, what advantage has blank in the case, From counting bad verses by unit, or brace? Nothing else can result from the critical rout, But, a blockhead's a blockhead, with rhyme, or without. It came, as they tell us, from ignorant Moors, And by growth of fine taste will be turn'd out o' doors: Two insipid conceits, at a venture entwin'd, Will then certainly come-not a moment before. Till then it will reign, and while, here and there spread, Blank verse, like an aloe, rears up its head; But stuffing their heads, in these classical days, To the praise of old metre it quitted the stage, In abhorrence of tragical ranting and rage; Which with heights, and with depths of distresses enrich'd, [witch'd; Verse and prose, art and nature, and morals be All the native agreements of language disgrac'd, That theatrical pomp might intoxicate taste; Still retaining poor blank, in its fetters held fast, To bemoan its hard fate in romantic bombast. 'T is the subject, in fine, in the matter of song, That makes a blank verse, or a rhyme to be wrong: If unjust, or improper, unchaste or prophane, It disgraces alike all poetical strain: Unfetter'd, unjingled, may take which he will; And thus the preacher often gains If not, the possessor of tunable skill Any plan, to which freedom and judgment impel-As (if you doubt it) may appear ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH. Sr. Philip Neri, as old readings say, From ev'ry Sunday in the year. For how indeed can one expect Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day; To write it fairly in a book, And, being ever courteously inclin'd To give young folks a sober turn of mind, St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come. St. And, when you are one, what do you intend? Y. Why then, for aught I may be made a bishop. What then? St. Be it so Y. Why, cardinal's a high degree- Will do the bus'ness? not a bit- What is a sermon, good or bad, So perfect is the Christian scheme, But for a man that has a head, Y. Why, who can say A just remark, a proper phrase; But I've a chance for being pope one day? Y. Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure, As long as God shall please, then-I must die. the best But wish and hope, and may be all the rest! But you may be, as you are pleas'd to hope, ADVICE TO THE REV. MESSRS. H AND H TO PREACH SLOW. Many a good sermon gives distaste, Which, had it been pronounc'd with leisure, For such a one to run along, In point of sermons, 't is confest, Would they but speak as well as write, TO THE SAME, Be not alarm'd, as if regard To this would prove so very hard; The first admonishment you fear'd Would so turn out, 'till it appear'd That custom, only, made to seem So difficult in your esteem, What, upon trial, now procures Your hearers ease, and also yours. Do but consider how the case Long after preaching first began, However well prepar'd before, Moderns, of late, give proofs enoo How apt to think too, is the throng, Try it; and if you can't succeed, And tho' you should succeed, and take ON CLERGYMEN PREACHING POLITICS. INDEED, sir Peter, I could wish, I owu, But when they tease us with it from the pulpit, I own, sir Peter, that I cannot gulp it. If on their rules a justice should intrench, And preach, suppose a sermon, from the bench, Would you not think your brother magistrate Was touch'd a little in his hinder pate? Now which is worse, sir Peter, on the total The lay vagary, or the sacerdotal? In ancient times, when preachers preach'd in- Their sermons, ere the learned learnt to read, Shut the church doors against all party strife: 'Tis wrong, sir Peter, I insist upon 't; To common sense 't is plainly an affront: The parson leaves the Christian in the lurch, Whene'er he brings his politics to church; His cant, on either side, if he calls preaching, The man's wrong-headed, and his brains want bleaching. Recall the time from conquering William's reign, And guess the fruits of such a preaching vein: How oft its nonsense must have veer'd about, Just as the politics were in, or out: The pulpit govern'd by no gospel data, But new success still mending old errata. Were I a king (God bless me) I should hate My chaplains meddling with affairs of state; Nor would my subjects, I should think, be fond, Whenever theirs the Bible went beyond. How well, methinks, we both should live together, If these good folks would keep within their tether! MOSES'S VISION. MOSES, to whom, by a peculiar grace, [eas'd, God spake (the Hebrew phrase is) face to face, drank, And then sat down, to rest him, on the bank: There while he sat, the soldier, on his track, Missing his gold, return'd directly back; Light off his horse, began to swear, and curse, ON THE AUTHOR'S COAT OF ARMS. THE hedge-hog for his arms, I would suppose, Some sire of ours, beloved kinsfolk, chose, With aim to hint instruction wise, and good, To us descendants of his Byrom blood; I would infer, if you be of this mind, The very lesson, that our sire design'd. He had observ'd that Nature gave a sense, To ev'ry creature, of its own defence; Down from the lion, with his tearing jaws, To the poor cat, that scratches with her paws; All show'd their force, when put upon the proof, Wherein it lay, teeth, talons, horn, or hoof. Pleas'd with the porcupine, whose native art A foe to none; but ev'ry body's friend; At last the hedge-hog came into his thought, Methinks I hear the venerable sage"Children! descendants all thro' ev'ry age! Learn, from the prudent urchin in your arms, How to secure yourselves from worldly harms: Give no offence;-to you if others will, Firmly wrapt up within yourselves, be still. "This animal is giv'n for outward sign Of inward, true security divine: Sharp, on your minds, let pointed virtues grow, That, without injuring, resist a foe; VOL XV. Surround with these an honest, harmless heart, And he, that dwells in it, will take your part. "Whatever ills your christian peace molest, Turn to, the source of grace, within your breast: There lies your safety-O that all my kin May ever seek it-where 't is found-within! That soul no ills can ever long annoy, Which makes its God the centre of its joy." VERSES, INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE BREAKING UP OF THE FREE GRAMMAR-SCHOOL IN MANCHESTER, IN THE YEAR 1748, WHEN LAUDER'S CHARGE OF PLAGIARISM UPON MILTON ENGAGED THE PUBLIC ATTENTION. THE MASTER'S SPEECH. OUR worthy founder, gentlemen, this day, Now, since our Milton, a renowned name, "The point," said I, "at which ye now take. aim, Remember, as ye rhyme, is Milton's fame; Then lend a fav'ring ear, whilst they rehearse FIRST LAD. MILTON pursu'd, in numbers more sublime, 'Tis now an age ago since Milton writ; We'll not dispute the value of them nowBut, say one thing which critics must allow; Which all the nations round us will confessMilton alone-attempted with success. SECOND LAD. WHEN Milton's ghost into Elysium came, To mix with claimants for poetic fame, Some rose, the celebrated bard to meet; Welcom'd, and laid their laurels at his feet. |