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With slow-paced heed, and tedious cunning,
But let my due sight never fail,
HERE sits J-P-, and could I but find
[hand. Why he ne'er feels an itch—in the palm of the
Acute, argumentative, agile, yet strong, With a heart ever right, and a head seldom wrong; With passions too prompt to sit quiet and still; In his principles fix'd, with a wandering will; Perplex'd in his creed, and too apt so to tell us ; In his friendships a little too lovingly jealous ; Still eager to get or to give satisfaction, He drives after motives, and misses the action : No axiom so clear but he'll make it more plain, No action so fair but he likes to explain; Too nice in the right, too sincere for profession, And with meaning so full that he fails in expression; For when crowds of ideas all strive to run out, Each must elbow his neighbour and shove him
about; But his life and his language have masculine merit, Both are deeply impress'd with the print of his
It burns in his eyes, it enlarges his frame,
beart. 'Tis not from a fountain like this you can draw Any languid harangue of loquacious law; 'Tis clear sense gushing out, unconfined, uncoma
press’d, From the pure and perennial spring in the breast. When all was at sea, all confusion and fear, Like the seamen's small needle he show'd how to
steer; Nor ever declined from the patriot direction, Till the lightning of Grattan once hurt the attraca
tion; But the transient dip, and the slight deviation, Prove the needle points true in its natural station.
No prancing, curvetting, episcopal pony, No desk petit-maitre, no church macaroni (With his curl carved as stiff as the top of the
crosier, And manners more pliant and loose than an osier); But tall and erect, and with resolute air, [hair, And with head that disdains e'en one hypocrite Here stands W-m C-11, the stem of our table, A column of prelacy, stately and stable ; The capital doric-and doric the base, It excels more in strength than Corinthian grace. Without flourish or frieze or Parisian plaster, A pillar for use, not a showy pilaster.
Such a pillar, when Samson was call'd out for sport, Perhaps might have saved the whole Philistine court.
[weight, Sam might crack all his sinews, and bow with his But Will would uphold both the church and the
Then take up this tankard of rough massy plate, Not for fashion preferr'd, but for value and weight; When you lift up the cover, then think of our vicar, And take a hard pull at the orthodox liquor, That keeps hale and hearty in every climate, And makes the poor curate as proud as the pri
But when genius and judgment are called to the feast,
[taste, Make the trio complete and cement them with And for taste let me call on our courtly Collector, Not the king of his company, but the protector; Who, with easy hilarity, knows how to sit In a family compact with wisdom and wit; With the art to know much, without seeming to know it,
[show it. Joins the art to have wit, without straining to For his mind, not case-harden'd by form or profession,
[cession. Always yields with a spring, and impels by conTrue politeness, like sense, is begotten, not made, But all our professions smell strong of a trade. All vocation is craft, both the black and the scarlet, The doctor, the pleader, the judge, and the harlot.
No collector of medals or fossils so fine, He gathers good fellows around his good wine ; No collector of shells or of stuff'd alligators, But of two-legged, unfeather'd, erect mutton
eaters, That join heart in hand to drive round the decanter,
[senter. While the bishop hob-nobs with the lowly dis