Hugging themselves in ease and clover,
With all the fufs of moving over;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred!
And wanton in my lady's head.
Well to be fure, it must be own'd,
It is a charming fpot of ground;
So fweet a distance for a ride,
And all about fo countrified!
"Twould come but to a trifling price
To make it quite a paradise;
I cannot bear those nafty rails,
Those ugly broken mouldy pales:
Suppose, my dear, instead of thefe,
We build a railing, all Chinese.
Although one hates to be expos'd;
"Tis dismal to be thus inclos'd;
One hardly any object fees-
I wish you'd fell thofe odious trees.
Objects continual paffing by
Were fomething to amufe the eye,
But to be pent within the walls—
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house, beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before,
Nothing its views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road;
While ev'ry trav❜ler in amaze,
Should on our little manfion gaze,
And pointing to the choice retreat,
Cry, that's Sir Thrifty's Country Seat.
No doubt her arguments prevail, For Madam's TASTE can never fail.
Bleft age! when all men may procure,
The title of a Connoiffeur;
When noble and ignoble herd,
Are govern'd by a fingle word;
Though, like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred Christian names;
As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Goût,
Whim, Caprice, Je-ne-fcai-quoi, Virtù
Which appellations all defcribe
TASTE, and the modern tafteful tribe.
Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists, and defigners,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wond'rous reformation.
The useful dome, which fecret stood,
Embofom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The trav'ler with amazement fees
A temple, Gothic, or Chinese,
With many a bell, and tawdry rag on,
And crefted with a sprawling dragon;
A wooden arch is bent aftride
A ditch of water, four foot wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact defigns.
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a fhrub upon the green,
Where Taste would want its first great law,
But for the skulking, fly ha-ha,
By whofe miraculous affiftance,
You gain a profpect two fields diftance.
And now from Hyde-Park Corner come
The Gods of Athens, and of Rome.
Here fquabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumfy Graces:
Apollo there, with aim fo clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
And there without the pow'r to fly,
Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.
The villa thus completely grac'd,
All own that Thrifty has a Taste;
And Madam's female friends, and coufins,
With common-council-men, by dozens,
Flock every Sunday to the Seat,
To ftare about them, and to eat.
ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HOGARTH, ESQ;
'N all profeffionary skill,
There never was, nor ever will
Be excellence, or exhibition,
But fools are up in oppofition;
Each letter'd, grave, pedantic dunce
Wakes from his lethargy at once,
Shrugs, fhakes his head, and rubs his eyes,
And, being dull, looks wond'rous wife,
With folemn phiz, and critic scowl,
The wifdom of his brother owl.
MODERNS! He hates the
Your Antients have prescriptive claim :—
But let a century be past,
And We have taste and wit at last;
For at that period Moderns too
Juft turn the corner of Virtù.
But merit now has little claim
To any meed of present fame,
For tis not worth that gets you friends,
'Tis excellence that most offends.
If, Proteus-like, a GARRICK's art,
Shews taste and skill in every part;
The JEALOUS WIFE, tho' chaftly writ,
With no parade of frippery wit,
Shall fet a fcribbling, all at once,
Both giant wit, and pigmy dunce;
While Critical Reviewers write,
Who fhew their teeth before they bite,
And facrifice each reputation,
From wanton false imagination.
These observations, rather ftale,
May borrow fpirit from a tale.
GENIUS, a bustling lad of parts,
Who all things did by fits and starts,
Nothing above him or below him,
Who'd make a riot, or a poem,
From excentricity of thought,
Not always do the thing he ought;
But was it once his own election,
Would bring all matters to perfection;
Would act, defign, engrave, write, paint,
But neither from the least constraint,
Who hated all pedantic schools,
And scorn'd the glofs of knowing fools,
That hold perfection all in all,
Yet treat it as mechanical,
And give the fame fufficient rule
To make a poem, as a stool—
|