« PreviousContinue »
To a thrice illuffrious Quack, Pedant, and Bard,
on bis incomparable Poen, calld, A Satyr a
gainst Wit. By the Right Hon. the Countess of Sandwich. T T Hou Fund of Nonsense, was it not enough,
That Cirs and pious Ladies lik'd thy Scuff, That, as thou copy'd ft Virgil, all might see Judicious Bell-men imitated thee: "That to thy Cadence Sextons fer their Chimes, And Nurses, skimming Poilets, humm'd thy Rhimes, But thou must need fall foul on Men of Sense, With Dullness equal to thy Impudence. Are DR-1, C-dr~11, Goth, Vak, B-le, Those Names of Wonder, that adorn onr ifle, Fit Subjects for thy vile pedantick Pen? Hence, fawcy Uler, to thy Desk again. Construe Dutch Notes, and pore upon Boys AS But, prithee, write no more heroick Farces. Teach blooming Blockheads, by their own try'd Rules, To give us Demonftraiion that they're Fools. Let 'em, by 's Sermon-Stile refine Their English Prose, their Poetry by thine ; Let W-jy's Rhimes their Einulation raise, And Ar-wkinstruct 'em how to praise. That, when all Ages in this Truth agree, They're finishid Dunces, they may rival thee; Thou only ftrain to migley William's Sword! Old Jemmy never knighted fuch-a T d. For the most nauseous Mixture God can make, Is a dull Pedant, and a busy Quack.
To Sir R--BI-re, on the two Arthurs be
ing condemni'd to be hang’d.
For here's a Theme chou canf not under-write,
By Coll. Codrington.
With the fame Confidence, to Tully's Name ;
Mauris a rose, sworn Foe to Health and Wing
And I must yield with the consenting Town,
Upon the Character of Codron, as ’tis drawn by the bungling Knight, in his Satyr against Wit.
Coll. Codrington. HO
Ow kind is Malice, manag'd by a Sot,
Where no Design directs the Embryo Thought, And Praise and Satyr stumble out by Lot. The morral Thrust, to Codron's Heart design'd, Proves a soft wanton Touch to charm his Mind. Can Ment-gue or D-S-t higher foar ? Or can immortal $h--ld wish for more? Brightness, Force, Justice, Delicacy, Eafe, Must form that Wit that can the Ladies please. No false affected Rules debauch their Taste, No fruitless Toils their gen’rous Spirits waste, Which wear a: Wit into a. Dunce at laft. No Lumber Learning gives an awkward Pride, False Maxims cramp not, nor false Lights misguide. Voiture and will their eafy Hours employ, Voiture and W-ij, oft read, will never cloy. With Care they guard the Musick and their Scile, They fly from Bin, and converse with B-le: They steal no Terms, no Notions from the Schools, The Pedane's Pleasure, and the Pride of Fools; With native Charms their matchless Thoughts surprize, Soft as their Souls, and beauteous as their Eyes: Gay as the Light, and unconfin'd as Air, Chast and fublime, all worthy of the Fair. How then can a rough artless Indian Wit' The faultless Palates of the Ladies fit ? Codron will never stand so nice a Test, Nor is't with Praise fair Mouths oblige him best.
Let others make a vain Parade of Paris,
An Epiram on Job, traversted by the City Bard.
By Col. Codrington.
And hardly fav’d a Potsherd and a Wife ;
To the Adventurous Knight of Cheapside, upon his
Satyr against Wit.
By Mr. Manning
To rail at Wit in this unhallow'd Strain ?
Like him, who rather than he'd live obscure;
To the canting Author of the Satyr against Wit
By - Mildmay, Efq. . T
HE Preacher, Maurus cries, All Wit is vain,
Unless 'tis like his Godliness, for Gain. of most vain Things he may the Folly own; But Wit's a Vanity he has not known.