Very well put, and many the man that has been posed in his philippics, when
he has been indiscreet enough to ask a question, by as simple a reply. But
our author is a master of his weapon the scholar armed. So he conjures up
satire again to graduate offences.
A. " And so shall Satire graduate each offence,
Nor treat Pretension as she treats Pretence ;
Shall merely smile to mark the smaller spot,
But justly frowns indignant on the blot.
She smiles when Balaam quits his old resort,
And City-friends, to leave his card at Court ;
And smiles to see the new-bought blazonry
Far flaming from his chariot flashing by.
She frowns on knavish show, that yet awhile
Tricks out some tottering credit, to beguile,
Then bursts, at once, in ruin, wide and deep,
Whence orphans pine and widowed mothers weep.
She frowns on seals to broken contracts set,
And the long file that glooms the last Gazette,
Which honest Gripus reads with clenching fist,
Then sends his own pure name to swell the list.
She frowns on hollow scheme, on puffed-up share,
And that late gulf, fraud-scooped, in Gresham's Square
(The ravening Southsea flowed iiot more profound,
A gulf, not greedier, cleft Rome's forum ground),
Round which in gamester strife, all England stood,
City and Court and all for England's good !
Nor closed we saw it, till those jaws between
Pride, Conscience, Honour, all were tumbled in :
All ! for the chance some lucky hit affords
To strut a Croesus, and to herd with lords."
These are stinging 1 lines but for
such a field, where facts are so redun-
dant, do we not regret that they are
too general ; why not, in individual
cases, drag forth the man by the throat,
and bid the villain stand for his pic-
ture? The satirist, if his own pure
feet tread not in the miry by-ways of
traffic, where the air is so thick that
Diogenes's lanthorn would not keep
its light, and if it did would be of no
use make no discovery let the sa-
tirist, we say, go ask the first solici-
tor he meets for a case to vent his
spleen on. Oh! what an exposition
of wickedness would there be if a truth-
telling attorney would have the bold-
ness and strength to give the world
his diary. We will imagine an ex-
tract, yet is it no imagination a sketch
from nature we took it from the port-
folio of a friend in the law, an eyewit-
ness. Scene. The sick-room of old
Lbvegold He is pillowed up in bed,
very weak, with a look of anxiety and
apprehension. Enter lawyer M., who
is beckoned to a chair by the bedside,
close to which he finds a table, and pen
ink and paper. The nurse quits the
room. When thus old Lovegold, in
broken sentences, and with a ghastly
stare, affecting at the same time a smile
or rather grin of unbelief. " They
tell me, Lawyer M., that I'm in a bad
way, and had better settle my worldly
affairs they mean, make my will, you
know don't believe but that I shall
get about again, and it's very awkward
to be ill just now that I've much to
do, a world of business on my hands
at this very time. But shan't die the
sooner for making my will, so I've
sent for you." Well, instructions are
given Lawyer M. retires makes the
will is reintroduced to the sick man,
witnesses procured and the will is
regularly attested. Lovegold and his
lawyer are left alone. The solicitor
is desired to recapitulate, and goes
through, clause by clause, the several
bequests, and enumerates the large
amount of property. The sick man
looks at the lawyer significantly,
as taking a pride in the amount of
wealth he had amassed. " You have
acquired," said Mr M., " a very large
property, sir." The sick man made
an effort and raised himself up in bed,
and spoke with increasing energy as
follows, " Yes, yes thank God I've
done pretty well, pretty well hey 1
yes ; and hw do you think I've made
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Poems by John Kenyan.
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