XIII.

An Answer to the Parson.

Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?
Because I don't want you to shear my fleece.

XIV.

Epitaph.

Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind; He has not left one enemy behind.

Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say; But now they stand in everybody's way.

XV.

Grown old in love from seven till seven times seven, I oft have wished for hell, for ease from heaven.

XVI.

Prayers plough not, praises reap not,
Joys laugh not, sorrows weep not.

XVII.

The Sword sang on the barren heath,
The Sickle in the fruitful field;

The Sword he sang a song of death
But could not make the Sickle yield.

XVIII.

O Lapwing, thou fliest across the heath,

Nor seest the net that is spread beneath :
Why dost thou not fly among the corn-fields?
They cannot spread ncts where a harvest yields.

XIX.

The Angel that presided o'er my birth
Said: "Little creature, formed of joy and mirth,
Go, love without the help of anything on earth."

EPIGRAMS AND SATIRICAL PIECES ON ART

AND ARTISTS.

I

I ASKED of my dear friend orator Prig:

'What's the first part of oratory?' He said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the second?' Then, dancing a jig

And bowing profoundly, he said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the third?' Then he snored like a pig, And, puffing his cheeks out, replied: 'A great wig.' So if to a painter the question you push, 'What's the first part of painting?' he'll say: 'A paint-brush.' 'And what is the second?' with most modest blush, He'll smile like a cherub, and say: A paint-brush.' 'And what is the third?' he'll bow like a rush, With a leer in his eye, and reply: 'A paint-brush.'

Perhaps this is all a painter can want:

But look yonder,-that house is the house of Rembrandt..

2

"O dear mother Outline, of wisdom most sage,

What's the first part of painting?' She said: 'Patronage.'
And what is the second to please and engage?'
She frowned like a fury, and said: 'Patronage.'
'And what is the third?' She put off old age,
And smiled like a syren, and said: 'Patronage.'

3

On the great encouragement given by English Nobility and Gentry to Correggio, Rubens, Rembrandt, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Catalani, and Dilberry Doodle.

Give pensions to the learned pig,
Or the hare playing on a tabor;
Anglus can never see perfection
But in the journeyman's labour.

As the ignorant savage will sell his own wife

For a button, a bauble, a bead, or a knife,

So the taught savage Englishman spends his whole fortune On a smear or a squall to destroy picture or tune:

And I call upon Colonel Wardle

To give these rascals a dose of caudle.

All pictures that's painted with sense or with thought
Are painted by madmen, as sure as a groat;

For the greater the fool, in the Art the more blest,
And when they are drunk they always paint best.
They never can Raphael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it:
If they can't see an outline, pray how can they make it?
All men have drawn outlines whenever they saw them;
Madmen see outlines, and therefore they draw them.

4

Seeing a Rembrandt or Correggio,

Of crippled Harry I think and slobbering Joe;

And then I question thus: Are artists' rules

To be drawn from the works of two manifest fools?
Then God defend us from the Arts, I say;
For battle, murder, sudden death, let's pray.
Rather than be such a blind human fool,
I'd be an ass, a hog, a worm, a chair, a stool.

5

To English Connoisseurs.

You must agree that Rubens was a fool,
And yet you make him master of your school,
And give more money for his slobberings
Than you will give for Raphael's finest things.
I understood Christ was a carpenter,
And not a brewer's servant, my good Sir.

6

Sir Joshua praises Michael Angelo;

'Tis Christian meekness thus to praise a foe:-
But 'twould be madness, all the world would say,
Should Michael Angelo praise Sir Joshua.
Christ used the Pharisees in a rougher way.

7

To Flaxman.

You call me mad; 'tis folly to do so,

To seek to turn a madman to a foe.

If

you think as you speak, you are an ass; If you do not, you are but what you was.

8

To the same.

I mock thee not, though I by thee am mocked; Thou call'st me madman, but I call thee blockhead.

9

Thank God, I never was sent to school

To be flogged into following the style of a fool!

PROSE WRITINGS.

DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE.

PUBLIC ADDRESS.

SIBYLLINE LEAVES.

THE GHOST OF ABEL.

A VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.