Vulgar words in English Poets of the Eighteenth Century (Page 1)
This book at a glance
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That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it.
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Some with vast stocks, and little pains, Jumped into business of great gains; And some were damned to scythes and spades, And all those hard laborious trades Where willing wretches daily sweat And wear out strength and limbs, to eat; While others followed mysteries To which few folks, bind prentices, That want no stock but that of brass, And may set up without a cross,-- As sharpers, parasites, pimps, players, Pickpockets, coiners, quacks, soothsayers, And all those that in enmity With downright working, cunningly Convert to their own use the labour Of their good-natured heedless neighbour.
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But they, at every ill success, Like creatures lost without redress, Cursed politicians, armies, fleets; While every one cried, 'Damn the cheats!'
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* * * * * The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learnèd lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always listening to himself appears.
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Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate; Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, Because she's honest, and the best of friends; Or her, whose life the Church and scandal share, Forever in a passion, or a prayer; Or her, who laughs at hell, but (like her Grace) Cries, 'Ah!
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but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blessed with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease: Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend; Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause; While wits and Templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise-- Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
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But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, Insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress; Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about; Who writes a libel, or who copies out; That fop, whose pride affects a patron's name, Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame; Who can your merit selfishly approve, And show the sense of it without the love; Who has the vanity to call you friend, Yet wants the honour, injured, to defend; Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, And, if he lie not, must at least betray; Who to the Dean and silver bell can swear, And sees at Canons what was never there; Who reads, but with a lust to misapply, Make satire a lampoon, and fiction, lie: A lash like mine no honest man shall dread, But all such babbling blockheads in his stead.
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And shall we deem him ancient, right and sound, Or damn to all eternity at once, At ninety-nine, a modern and a dunce?
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Not that I'd lop the beauties from his book, Like slashing Bentley with his desperate hook, Or damn all Shakespeare, like th' affected fool At court, who hates whate'er he read at school.
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FROM THE GHOST [DR. JOHNSON] Pomposo, insolent and loud, Vain idol of a scribbling crowd, Whose very name inspires an awe, Whose every word is sense and law, For what his greatness hath decreed, Like laws of Persia and of Mede, Sacred through all the realm of wit, Must never of repeal admit; Who, cursing flattery, is the tool Of every fawning, flattering fool; Who wit with jealous eye surveys, And sickens at another's praise; Who, proudly seized of learning's throne, Now damns all learning but his own; Who scorns those common wares to trade in, Reasoning, convincing, and persuading, But makes each sentence current pass With 'puppy,' 'coxcomb,' 'scoundrel,' 'ass,' For 'tis with him a certain rule, The folly's proved when he calls 'fool'; Who, to increase his native strength, Draws words six syllables in length, With which, assisted with a frown By way of club, he knocks us down.
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Here stands a shed to fend the showers, An' screen our countra gentry, There Racer Jess, and twa-three whores, Are blinkin' at the entry.
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Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief, Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower, O'er a dead jackass pour the pearly shower: But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood Choked up with slain; of Lyons drenched in blood; Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with shame, Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with freedom's name,-- Altars and thrones subverted, social life Trampled to earth, the husband from the wife, Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn; Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn In friendless exile; of the wise and good Staining the daily scaffold with their blood.
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Peed, pied.
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Sumph', blockhead.