HE most oppressive Form of Cant
Is that of your Art-Dilettant :-
Or rather "was." The Race, I own,
To-day is, happily, unknown.
A Painter, now by Fame forgot,
Had painted-'tis no matter what;
Enough that he resolved to try
The Verdict of a critic Eye.
The Friend he sought made no Pretence
To more than candid Common-sense,
Nor held himself from Fault exempt.
He praised, it seems, the whole Attempt.
Then, pausing long, showed here and there
That Parts required a nicer Care,—
A closer Thought. The Artist heard,
Expostulated, chafed, demurred.
Just then popped in a passing Beau,
Half Pertness, half Pulvilio ;-
One of those Mushroom Growths that spring
From Grand Tours and from Tailoring;-
And dealing much in terms of Art
Picked up at Sale and auction Mart.
Straight to the Masterpiece he ran
With lifted Glass, and thus began,
Mumbling as fast as he could speak :-
"Sublime !-prodigious !-truly Greek!
That Air of Head' is just divine;
That contour GUIDO, every line;
That Forearm, too, has quite the Gusto
Of the third Manner of ROBUSTO
Then, with a Simper and a Cough,
He skipped a little farther off:-
"The middle Distance, too, is placed
Quite in the best Italian Taste;
And Nothing could be more effective
Than the Ordonnance and Perspective . .
You've sold it ?-No ?-Then take my word,
I shall speak of it to MY LORD.
What! I insist. Don't stir, I beg.
With that he made a Leg,
Offered on either Side his Box,—
So took his Virtú off to COCK'S.
The Critic, with a Shrug, once more
Turned to the Canvas as before.
'Nay," said the Painter-"I allow
The Worst that you can tell me now.
'Tis plain my Art must go to School,
To win such Praises-from a FOOL!”
N Art some hold Themselves content If they but compass what they meant; Others prefer, their Purpose gained, Still to find Something unattainedSomething whereto they vaguely grope With no more Aid than that of Hope. Which are the Wiser? Who shall say! The prudent Follower of GAY
Declines to speak for either View,
But sets his Fable 'twixt the two.
Once 'twas in good Queen ANNA'S Time
While yet in this benighted Clime
The GENIUS of the ARTS (now known
On mouldy Pediments alone)
Protected all the Men of Mark,
Two Painters met Her in the Park.
Whether She wore the Robe of Air
Portrayed by VERRIO and LAGUERRE;
Or, like BELINDA, trod this Earth,
Equipped with Hoop of monstrous Girth,
And armed at every Point for Slaughter
With Essences and Orange-water,
I know not but it seems that then,
After some talk of Brush and Pen,-
Some chat of Art both High and Low,
Of VAN'S "Goose-Pie" and KNELLER's "Mot,”-
The Lady, as a Goddess should,
Bade Them ask of Her what They would.
"Then, Madam, my request," says BRISK,
Giving his Ramillie a whisk,
"Is that your Majesty will crown
My humble Efforts with Renown.
Let me, I beg it-Thanks to You-
Be praised for Everything I do,
Whether I paint a Man of Note,
Or only plan a Petticoat."
"Nay," quoth the other, "I confess
(This One was plainer in his Dress,
And even poorly clad), "for me,
I scorn Your Popularity.
Why should I care to catch at once
The Point of View of every Dunce?
Let me do well, indeed, but find
The Fancy first, the Work behind;
Nor wholly touch the thing I wanted
The Goddess both Petitions granted.
Each in his Way, achieved Success;
But One grew Great. And which One? Guess.
TOO oft we hide our Frailties' Blame
Beneath some simple-sounding Name! So Folks, who in gilt Coaches ride, Will call Display but Proper Pride; So Spendthrifts, who their Acres lose, Curse not their Folly but the Jews; So Madam, when her Roses faint, Resorts to . . . anything but Paint.
An honest Uncle, who had plied
His Trade of Mercer in Cheapside,
Until his Name on 'Change was found
Good for some Thirty Thousand Pound,
Was burdened with an Heir inclined
To thoughts of quite a different Kind.
His Nephew dreamed of Naught but Verse
From Morn to Night, and, what was worse,
He quitted all at length to follow
That "sneaking, whey-faced God, APOLLO."
In plainer Words, he ran up Bills
At Child's, at Batson's, and at Will's;
Discussed the Claims of rival Bards
At Midnight, with a Pack of Cards ;
Or made excuse for "t'other Bottle"
Over a point in ARISTOTLE.
This could not last, and like his Betters
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