FullReads

3.
Then seriatim, month and quarter,
Appeared such mad tirades.–One said–
‘Peter seduced Mrs. Foy’s daughter, 470
Then drowned the mother in Ullswater,
The last thing as he went to bed.’

4.
Another–‘Let him shave his head!
Where’s Dr. Willis?–Or is he joking?
What does the rascal mean or hope, 475
No longer imitating Pope,
In that barbarian Shakespeare poking?’

5.
One more, ‘Is incest not enough?
And must there be adultery too?
Grace after meat? Miscreant and Liar! 480
Thief! Blackguard! Scoundrel! Fool! hell-fire
Is twenty times too good for you.

6.
‘By that last book of yours WE think
You’ve double damned yourself to scorn;
We warned you whilst yet on the brink 485
You stood. From your black name will shrink
The babe that is unborn.’

7.
All these Reviews the Devil made
Up in a parcel, which he had
Safely to Peter’s house conveyed. 490
For carriage, tenpence Peter paid–
Untied them–read them–went half mad.

8.
‘What!’ cried he, ‘this is my reward
For nights of thought, and days, of toil?
Do poets, but to be abhorred 495
By men of whom they never heard,
Consume their spirits’ oil?

9.
‘What have I done to them?–and who
IS Mrs. Foy? ‘Tis very cruel
To speak of me and Betty so! 500
Adultery! God defend me! Oh!
I’ve half a mind to fight a duel.

10.
‘Or,’ cried he, a grave look collecting,
‘Is it my genius, like the moon,
Sets those who stand her face inspecting, 505
That face within their brain reflecting,
Like a crazed bell-chime, out of tune?’

11.
For Peter did not know the town,
But thought, as country readers do,
For half a guinea or a crown, 510
He bought oblivion or renown
From God’s own voice (1) in a review.

12.
All Peter did on this occasion
Was, writing some sad stuff in prose.
It is a dangerous invasion 515
When poets criticize; their station
Is to delight, not pose.

13.
The Devil then sent to Leipsic fair
For Born’s translation of Kant’s book;
A world of words, tail foremost, where 520
Right–wrong–false–true–and foul–and fair
As in a lottery-wheel are shook.

14.
Five thousand crammed octavo pages
Of German psychologics,–he
Who his furor verborum assuages 525
Thereon, deserves just seven months’ wages
More than will e’er be due to me.

15.
I looked on them nine several days,
And then I saw that they were bad;
A friend, too, spoke in their dispraise,– 530
He never read them;–with amaze
I found Sir William Drummond had.

16.
When the book came, the Devil sent
It to P. Verbovale (2), Esquire,
With a brief note of compliment, 535
By that night’s Carlisle mail. It went,
And set his soul on fire.