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CRITICAL STUDIES
Ah, rogues, but my housemaid suspects you—
Is confident oft she detects you
In bringing more filth into my house
Than ever you found there! I'm pious
However: 'twas God made you dingy."
Is confident oft she detects you
In bringing more filth into my house
Than ever you found there! I'm pious
However: 'twas God made you dingy."
And so on through several more pages of infinite contempt, quite justifiable, but scarcely worth the while of so great a thinker and poet to fling at such pigmies.
As for the public which complains that though he brews stiff drink, the deuce a flavour of grape is there, and alleges against him Shakespeare and Milton, whose wines are both strong and sweet, he turns on it with bitter disdain, and reminds it that it drinks only the leakage and leavings of these, sups the single scene, sips the single verse: —
"There are forty barrels with Shakespeare's brand.
Some five or six are abroach; the rest
Stand spigoted, fauceted.
••••••There are four big butts of Milton's brew.
How comes it you make old drips and drops
Do duty, and there devotion stops?"
Some five or six are abroach; the rest
Stand spigoted, fauceted.
••••••There are four big butts of Milton's brew.
How comes it you make old drips and drops
Do duty, and there devotion stops?"
And he concludes his rough rasping with the following stanza:—
"Don't nettles make a broth
Wholesome for blood grown lazy and thick?
Maws out of sorts make mouths out of taste.
My Thirty-four Port—no need to waste
On a tongue that's fur and a palate—paste!
A magnum for friends who are sound! the sick
I'll posset and cosset them, nothing loth,
Henceforward with nettle-broth!"
Wholesome for blood grown lazy and thick?
Maws out of sorts make mouths out of taste.
My Thirty-four Port—no need to waste
On a tongue that's fur and a palate—paste!
A magnum for friends who are sound! the sick
I'll posset and cosset them, nothing loth,
Henceforward with nettle-broth!"
