Critics indeed are valuable men, But hyper-critics are as good agen. Though Blackmore's works my soul with raptures fill, Confirm'd and settled by the nation's voice, Of market, university, and court: Thomson, write blank; but know that for that reason, These lines shall live when thine are out of season, Rhyme binds and beautifies the poet's lays, As London ladies owe their shape to stays. Had Cibber's self the Careless Husband wrote, He for the laurel ne'er had had my vote: But for his epilogues and other plays, He thoroughly deserves the modern bays. It pleases me, that Pope unlaurell'd goes, While Cibber wears the bays for play-house prose: So Britain's monarch once uncover'd sate, While Bradshaw bully'd in a broad-brim'd hat. Yo Long live old Curll! he ne'er to publish fears, The speeches, verses, and last wills of peers. How oft has he a public spirit shewn, And pleas'd our ears, regardless of his own? 86 Lives of dead play'rs my leisure hours beguile, And Sessions-papers tragedize my stile. 'Tis charming reading in Ophelia's life, So oft a mother, and not once a wife: She could with just propriety behave, Alive with peers, with monarchs in her grave: Her lot how oft have envious harlots wept, By prebends bury'd, and by generals kept. да T' improve in morals Mandevil I read, As Pasaran directs I'd end my life, And kill myself, my daughter, and my wife. But not to writings I confine my pen, I have a taste for buildings, music, men. -100 Young travell'd coxcombs mighty knowledge boast, With superficial smattering at most. Not so my mind, unsatisfied with hints, Knows more than Budgel writes, or Roberts prints. From High-Park corner down to Bednal-Green. ~110 They're Vanbrugh's structures that my fancy strike: I wish they'd tumble for the prospect's sake. St. James's hospital may serve for kings. 20 That for one house I'd mortgage all my land. But it shall cost me threescore thousand pound. Take a week's view of Venice and the Brent, Stare round, see nothing, and come home content._/3. I'll have my Villa too, a sweet abode, Its situation shall be London road: Pots o'er the door I'll place like Cits balconies, I'll have my gardens in the fashion too, Does it not merit the beholder's praise, What's high to sink? and what is low to raise ? 140 Slopes shall ascend where once a green-house stood, And in my horse-pond I will plant a wood. In curious paintings I'm exceeding nice, But choose my pictures by a skilful friend. The picture's value is the painter's name... 186 My Taste in sculpture from my choice is seen, How oft have I with admiration stood, I To view some city-magistrate in wood! Oh could I view through London as I pass, His magisterial paunch and griping face; And grant the tradesman, what a king's deny'd. Old coins and medals I collect, 'tis true, Sir Andrew has 'em, and I'll have 'em too. But among friends if I the truth might speak, I like the modern, and despise th' antique. Though in the drawers of my japan bureau, To lady Gripeall I the Caesars shew, a 'Tis equal to her ladyship or me, A copper Otho or a Scotch baubee. Without Italian, or without an ear, To Bononcini's music I adhere; Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, And therefore proper at a sheriff's feast. My soul has oft a secret pleasure found, In the harmonious bagpipe's lofty sound, Bagpipes for men, shrill German-flutes for boys, I'm English born, and love a grumbling noise./80 The stage should yield the solemn organ's note, And scripture tremble in the eunuch's throat. |