The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 89

TO A DUBLIN PUBLISHER.

Who displayed a bust of Dean Swift in his window, while publis.h.i.+ng Lord Orrery's offensive remarks upon the Dean.

Faulkner! for once thou hast some judgment shown, By representing Swift transformed to stone; For could he thy ingrat.i.tude have known, Astonishment itself the work had done!

WHICH IS WHICH.

BYRON.

"G.o.d bless the King! G.o.d bless the faith's defender!

G.o.d bless--no harm in blessing--the Pretender.

But who that pretender is, and who that king, G.o.d bless us all, is quite another thing."

ON SOME LINES OF LOPEZ DE VEGA.

DR. JOHNSON.

If the man who turnips cries, Cry not when his father dies, 'Tis a proof that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.

ON A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF BEAU MARSH.

Placed between the busts of Newton and Pope.

LORD CHESTERFIELD

"Immortal Newton never spoke More truth than here you'll find; Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke More cruel on mankind.

"The picture placed the busts between, Gives satire all its strength; Wisdom and Wit are little seen-- But Folly at full length."

ON SCOTLAND.

CLEVELAND.

"Had Cain been Scot, G.o.d would have changed his doom; Nor forced him wander, but confined him home."

EPIGRAMS OF PETER PINDAR.

EDMUND BURKE'S ATTACK ON WARREN HASTINGS

Poor Edmund sees poor Britain's setting sun: Poor Edmund GROANS--and Britain is UNDONE!

Reader! thou hast, I do presume (G.o.d knows though) been in a snug room, By coals or wood made comfortably warm, And often fancied that a storm WITHOUT, Hath made a diabolic rout-- Sunk s.h.i.+ps, tore trees up--done a world of harm.

Yes, thou hast lifted up thy tearful eyes, Fancying thou heardst of mariners the cries; And sigh'd, "How wretched now must thousands be!

Oh! how I pity the poor souls at sea!"

When, lo! this dreadful tempest, and his roar, A ZEPHYR--in the key-hole of the door!

Now may not Edmund's howlings be a sigh Pressing through Edmund's lungs for loaves and fishes, On which he long hath looked with LONGING eye To fill poor Edmund's not o'erburden'd dishes?

Give Mun a sup--forgot will be complaint; Britain be safe, and Hastings prove a SAINT.

ON AN ARTIST Who boasted that his pictures had hung near those of Sir Joshua Reynolds in the Exhibition.

A shabby fellow chanc'd one day to meet The British Roscius in the street, Garrick, on whom our nation justly brags-- The fellow hugg'd him with a kind embrace-- "Good sir, I do not recollect your face,"

Quoth Garrick--"No!" replied the man of rags.

"The boards of Drury you and I have trod Full many a time together, I am sure--"

"When?" with an oath, cried Garrick--"for by G-- I never saw that face of yours before!-- What characters, I pray, Did you and I together play?"

"Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mock-- When you play'd Hamlet, sir--I play'd the c.o.c.k"

ON THE CONCLUSION OF HIS ODES

"FINISH'D!" a disappointed artist cries, With open mouth, and straining eyes; Gaping for praise like a young crow for meat-- "Lord! why have you not mentioned ME!"

Mention THEE!

Thy IMPUDENCE hath put me in a SWEAT-- What rage for fame attends both great and small Better be D--N'D, than mention'd NOT AT ALL!

THE LEX TALIONIS UPON BENJAMIN WEST

West tells the world that Peter can not rhyme-- Peter declares, point blank, that West can't paint.

West swears I've not an atom of sublime-- I swear he hath no notion of a saint;

And that his cross-wing'd cherubim are fowls, Baptized by naturalists, owls: Half of the meek apostles, gangs of robbers; His angels, sets of brazen-headed lubbers.

The Holy Scripture says, "All flesh is gra.s.s,"

With Mr. West, all flesh is brick and bra.s.s; Except his horse-flesh, that I fairly own Is often of the choicest Portland stone.

I've said it too, that this artist's faces Ne'er paid a visit to the graces:

That on expression he can never brag: Yet for this article hath he been studying, But in it never could surpa.s.s a pudding- No, gentle reader, nor a pudding-bag.

I dare not say, that Mr. West Can not sound criticism impart: I'm told the man with technicals is blest, That he can talk a deal upon the art; Yes, he can talk, I do not doubt it-- "About it, G.o.ddess, and about it."

Thus, then, is Mr. West deserving praise-- And let my justice the fair laud afford; For, lo! this far-fam'd artist cuts both ways, Exactly like the angel Gabriel's sword; The beauties of the art his CONVERSE shows, His CANVAS almost ev'ry thing that's bad!

Thus at th' Academy, we must suppose, A man more useful never could be had: Who in himself, a host, so much can do; Who is both precept and example too!