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With such accoutrements, with such a form,
Mach like a porpoise just before a form,
Onward he rolld; a laugh prevail'd around,
É'en Jove was feen to fim per; at the found
(Nor was the cause unknown, for from his youth
Himself he studied by the glass of Truch)
He join'd their mirth, nor ihall the Gods condemn,
If, whild they laugh'd at him, he laugh'd at them.
Judge Reason view'd him with an eye of grace,
Look'd thro' his soul, and quite forgot his face,
And, from his hand receiv'd, with fair regard
Plac'd in her other scale the name of BARD.

Then (for The did as Judges ought to do,
She nothing of the case beforehand knew
Nor wilh'd to know, she never stretch'd the laws,
Nor, basely to anticipate a cause.
Compella Sollicitors no longer free,
To Mew those briefs she had no right to fee)
Then she with equal hand her scales held out,
Nor did the cause one moment hang in doubt,
She held her scales out fair to public view ;
The LORD, as sparks fly upwards, upwards flew,
More light than air, deceitful in the weight;
The Bard, preponderating, kept his llate:
Reason approv'd, and with a voice, whose sound
Shook earth, shook heaven, on the clearest ground
Pronouncing for the Bards a full decree,
Cried-Those must honour Them, who honour Me,
They from this present day, where'er 1 reign,
In their own right, precedence hall obtain,
Merit rules here; be it enough that Birch
Intoxicates, and fways, the fools of earth.

Nor think that here, in hatred to a Lord,
I've forg'd a tale, or alter'd a record;
Search when will (I am not now in sport)

You'll find it register'd in REASON's court. Envy itself must smile at the very jocular manner in which the Bard has here drawn his own picture. The pleasantry with which he laughs at himself, might half incline one to pardon the liberties he takes with others, did we not perceive Vanity and Arrogance peeping through the mask of partial ridicule.

Go on illustrious Bard! thou art in the right road to Independence. Indulge the reigning depravity of taste: get dceper Itill in dirt; the Half-crowns will wash the clean. Leave elegance and harmony to others : in these firring Times, they will not procure thee Six-pence--To ule thy own phraseology, Tney will nct go to Market.'


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Churchill DisiEted. A Poem. 4to. 1 s. 6d. Nicoll.

C Churc

OULD we have imagined that Churchill should diffect

Churchill, we should have concluded, that he had here taken the incifion knife in his own hand.-The operation is perfectly in his own style of execution, heavy and violent; and the display of the interior parts, indicates a thorough acquaintance with the subject :

His person--all will know him by the print
Hogarth has giv'n, with fuch arch meaning in't.
His drunken attitude, his leering eyes,
His bear-skin, and his faff stuck round with lies:
He travels with a Trull he calls his wife,
By him seduc'd to infamy for life :
His Muse bred up at Billingsgate, his Muse
A vixen Jade, instructed to abuse;
A vixen Jade, (but not to do her wrong)
With wit, skill, spirit, all the pow'ss of song:
With Strumpet air, drest in a negligée,
A Prostitute each hour, for a fee.

A Priest-as void of decency as grace,
No hypocritic varnish on his face:
In band and gown to brothels he repairs,
There fins with Sinners, with the Swearer Swears,
With Scoffers scoffs, and fat in Scorner's chair,
Defies Damnation with determin'd air:
This Heroe in impiety, behold
In health, this Dare-devil fo brave and bold;
With the leaft illuess he dejected lies,
And all Hell flames before his coward eyes.

Human-without one feeling for his kind,
Without one seed of goodness in his mind,
No not a little one, the smallest grain,
But all is vice, and vice of darkeft ftain.
Intent on all he hates, to pour
Respecting neither merit, rank, nor age,
His characters to his own manners suits,
A bear, exhibiting a fhew of brutes.
But devious still from Satire's moral plan,
He makes a monster, whom God made a man.
And while by slanders fqul he courts applause,


Villain that he draws.
Thus proceeds the diffection :

The Surgeon now with sharp and Mining blade,
Has o'er the trunk a cross incision made;
This fignature perhaps, so dceply giv'n,
May prove his paffpoit at the gates of heav'n;


his rage,

Appears the

The cross baptismal long by sin efrac'd,
And all its ghoitly workings quite disgrac'd :
This point to prieitly Cafuifts I resign,
It is their province, and 'tis far from mine.
They find the stomach fraught with acids keen,
And of a moft enormous fize his spleen;
The liver full of gall, and overflowing:
To this his sharp latiric vein is owing.
Why is man doom'd to never-ending woe,
For faults, which all from constitution How !
His guts they next unravel, fold by fold,
And find the Cæcum cramm'd with minted gold ;
(The Doctor eyes the minted gold with glee,
and claims it as his perquisite, or fee)
But cannot, tho' they search with double care,
Discover the least inch of Rectum there.
Staunch as he seemd, not found in either Kidney,
Unlike the resolute, undaunted SIDNEY,
Who felt the stroke of Pow'r, his works tho' less
Seditious, nor committed to the Press.
Can then such vile Incendiaries complain,
Beneath the lenity of George's reign?

His Lungs, the bellows once of civil ftrife
Themselves inflam'd. His Heart, main spring of life,
Hard to callosity, tho' swoln with pride,
Now both its Ventricles are open'd wide,
Both Ventricles fit kennels for a pack
Of hateful Hell-hounds, horrid all, and black:
Hark! Nero leads the van. in scent of blood,
The rest pour thundering like a mighty flood;
Mad Zoilus foaming, by sharp Envy stung,
While base Thersites spends his snarling tongue ;
Tarquin, curs d cause of many a female tear,
And coward Drances babbling in the rear.
Thick intermix'd with these, join in the chace
The common-hunt, of the fame hellish race,
Known by more modern names, which to rehearse
Would foul my page, and vilify my verse.
Their speed unequal, their pursuit the same,
Freedom they cry, but Royalty their game.

His Front well cas’d with brass they strip with pain,
Open bis kull, and find no want of brain.
The Dura Mater, all in proper place,
But can't a scrap of Pia Mater trace.
They search each cell, and many find replete
With faney, humour, Spirit, sense, and wit ;
Of artful method, stock indeed but small,
And of Decorum, truly none at all.

Sic patet Janua Ditis!

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Sermons on the following Subjects: 1. All the Works of God, in

their natural State, beautiful and lovely, &c. By the late Rev. James Duchal, D. D. Vols. Ild and Illd.

8vo. 10S. W. Johnston,

AVING, more than once, had occafion to deliver our

sentiments concerning Dr. Duchal as a Writer, we shall, without any farther introduction, proceed to lay before our Readers an account of what is contained in the volumes now before us,

Prefixed to the second volume, we have an Essay on the character of the Author, in an anonymous Letter to a friend. The Letter-writer observes, that in so private a walk of life, and so little diverfified, as that of Dr. Duchal, it is not to be expected, that incidents worth recording should have occurred. Adventures rarely mark the lives of wife and good men, he says; they hold on the noiseless tenour of their way; and as seldom is true modesty the hero of its own tale. As to 'circumstances little entertaining, he tells us, he has neither lights nor curiofity to enquire.

Instead, therefore, of a particular account of the Doctor's birth, parentage, education, &c. the Reader will find in this Letter, what is much more instructive and interesting, viz. his peculiar features, the distinguishing parts of his character clearly marked by one, who says, he had access to know him intimately. He sets out with some general reflections, which, in our opinion, are pertinent and judicious.

• It were to be wished, Says he, that a fair hearing could be procured for obscure and humble worth ; where more is meant than commonly meets the ear and eye; but it is no easy matter to bring out to light the hidden graces of the heart; even the lines of a fire and delicate face are not easily hit off, Simplicity of manners, disciplin'd paflions, moving in a fort of ftill life, and in a narrow sphere, are not glaring enough to attract the popular eve. As few have the powers to express, perhaps, not many have taste to discern the mild and retired beauties. Yet the humble virtues are moft truly such ; they are most useful in common life; all are called to the practice of them; and they are most imitable. Few are born to figure on the public ftage; and it is often seen that rụde undisciplin'd abilities, and passions, most strongly rauze attention; for nature's shoots are most luxuriant, Such characters are generally ftruck off at a heat, from the collision of strong powers, and fortunate conjunctures. And, at bett, mere elevation of place, boldness of spirit, and force of Benius, produce themfelves into light, rather as objects of un


discerning applause, than of imitation. Indeed, characters of this calt often produce a very bad effect: the moral eye is dazzled by the false lustre of specious qualities ; not to say, by flagrant enormities, dressed out in the spoils of virtue ; thus debauching the sense of right, and

prostituting the rewards of true worth, to the service of vice-Decipit exemplar vitiis imitabile : and thus, modeft retired virtue, in the vale of life is still more obscured,' by the splendour of folly in high place. Such virtue may, indeed, resemble the dawning light, which shines more and more to the fullness of day ; but from those whose senses are not exercised to discern, it will attract little regard ; shedding only a mild and gentle ray, amidst the shades of obscurity. The Thewy, the superficial, the glaring, have always, and still will draw the many to wonder. In truth, many are the milhapen and mischievous-beasts the world has wondered after; while the plain, the solid, the natural, lye little noticed. For these Fame seldom sounds her trumpet : however, she is too puissant a personage to be arrested in her course by us : common fame sounds, and common sense is silent; and, in the present state of things, there may possibly be more reasons for this than our philosophy wots of.

• Now, my friend, in so hopeless a case, were it not the wifer way, to let every man's own works praise him? If, for inftance, his friends produce him as a Writer; why, let the impartial public reward him, according to such' his works. What need of suspected panegyric ? and not unjustly suspected in modern practice; for what happens ? An admired friend is no more; when, instantly, fond affection snatches up the pencil, and all is one blaze of light, with scarce a shade, or variety of lines, to give distinction. But surely, thus to mix up almost all the virtues, and in the highest degree, with scarce one trace of defect, or human infirmity, is neither to draw, nor colour after the lise. This is not to give the portrait of a man, but the Poet's perfect monster, which the world ne'er faw ;-or, on the contrary, if malevolence conduct the work, the Roman Satirjsts fill more enormous monster, redeemed from vice by no one virtue. Credulity itself will revolt at such outrage against all truth of character; as beyond the powers of humanity, either to exemplify or to imitate. Doubt will either question the existence of the perfect pattern, or, looking up to such sublime heighths of virtue, will strain the powers ; and despair of attainment, will extinguish all ardour of imitation. There appears to be a natural tone of the powers, beyond which the purluit of virtue itself may incur the imputation of folly. For truth's fuke then, and for example's fake, it were better not to set the mark to be aimed at too far out of reach. It seems safer for



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