A spurious portrait to a faithless life,
And bearing lyingly the libell'd name
Of Lawrence, impudently there insculpt.
The bust that was the innocent forefather
To all this base, abominable brood,
I blame not, Allan. 'T was the work of Smith,
A modest, mild, ingenious man, and errs,
Where erring, only because over-true,
Too close a likeness for similitude;
Fixing to every part and lineament
Its separate character, and missing thus
That which results from all.
Allan, I own Sir Smug! I recognise
That visage with its dull sobriety;
I see it duly as the day returns,
When at the looking-glass with lather'd chin
And razor-weapon'd hand I sit, the face
Composed and apprehensively intent
Upon the necessary operation
About to be perform'd, with touch, alas,
Not always confident of hair-breadth skill.
Even in such sober sadness and constrain'd
Composure cold, the faithful Painter's eye
Had fix'd me like a spell, and I could feel
My features stiffen as he glanced upon them.
And yet he was a man whom I loved dearly,
My fellow-traveller, my familiar friend,
My household guest. But when he look'd upon me,
Anxious to exercise his excellent art,
The countenance he knew so thoroughly
Was gone, and in its stead there sate Sir Smug.
Under the graver's hand, Sir Smug became Sir Smouch,.. a son of Abraham. Now albeit, Far rather would I trace my lineage thence Than with the oldest line of Peers or Kings Claim consanguinity, that cast of features Would ill accord with me, who in all forms Of pork, baked, roasted, toasted, boil'd or broil'd, Fresh, salted, pickled, seasoned, moist or dry, Whether ham, bacon, sausage, souse or brawn, Leg, bladebone, baldrib, griskin, chine, or chop, Profess myself a genuine Philopig.
It was, however, as a Jew whose portion
Had fallen unto him in a goodly land
Of loans, of omnium, and of three per cents,
That Messrs. Percy of the Anecdote-firm
Presented me unto their customers.
Poor Smouch endured a worse judaization
Under another hand. In this next stage
He is on trial at the Old Bailey, charged
With dealing in base coin. That he is guilty
No Judge or Jury could have half a doubt
When they saw the culprit's face; and he himself,
As you may plainly see, is comforted
By thinking he has just contrived to keep
Out of rope's reach, and will come off this time For transportation.
Stand thou forth for trial,
Now, William Darton, of the Society
Of Friends called Quakers; thou who in 4th month
Of the year 24, on Holborn Hill,
At No. 58., didst wilfully,
Falsely, and knowing it was falsely done,
Publish upon a card, as Robert Southey's,
A face which might be just as like Tom Fool's,
Or John, or Richard Any-body-else's!
What had I done to thee, thou William Darton,
'That thou shouldst for the lucre of base gain,
Yea, for the sake of filthy fourpences,
Palm on my countrymen that face for mine?
O William Darton, let the Yearly Meeting
Deal with thee for that falseness! All the rest
Are traceable; Smug's Hebrew family;
The German who might properly adorn
A gibbet or a wheel, and Monsieur Sooté,
Sons of Fitzbust the Evangelical;..
I recognize all these unlikenesses,
Spurious abominations tho' they be,
Each filiated on some original;
But thou, Friend Darton, and.. observe me, man,
Only in courtesy, and quasi Quaker,
I call thee Friend!.. hadst no original;
No likeness, or unlikeness, silhouette,
Outline, or plaister, representing me,
Whereon to form thy misrepresentation.
If I guess rightly at the pedigree
Of thy bad groatsworth, thou didst get a barber
To personate my injured Laureateship;
An advertising barber,.. one who keeps
A bear, and when he puts to death poor Bruin
Sells his grease, fresh as from the carcase cut,
EPISTLE TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
Pro bono publico, the price per pound
Twelve shillings and no more. From such a barber,
O unfriend Darton! was that portrait made
I think, or peradventure from his block.
Next comes a minion worthy to be set
In a wooden frame; and here I might invoke
Avenging Nemesis, if I did not feel
Just now God Cynthius pluck me by the ear.
But, Allan, in what shape God Cynthius comes,
And wherefore he admonisheth me thus,
Nor thou nor I will tell the world; hereafter
The commentators, my Malones and Reids,
May if they can. For in my gallery
Though there remaineth undescribed good store,
Yet "of enough enough, and now no more,"
(As honest old George Gascoigne said of yore,)
Save only a last couplet to express
That I am always truly yours,
* The main subject of this epistle having been suggested by a poem of Bilderdijk's, part only of which I have incorporated, in a compressed and very inadequate translation, I annex here the original, in justice to my deceased friend, -a man of most extraordinary attainments, and genius not less remarkable.
OP EENE VERZAMELING VAN MIJNE
In pejus vultu proponi cereus usquam. — HORAT.
EEN Wildeman, het dolhuis uitgevlogen : 1
Een goede Hals, maar zonder ziel of kracht: 2
Een Sukkelaar, die met verwonderde oogen
Om alles met verbeten weêrzin lacht: 3
Een Franschmans lach op halfverwrongen kaken,
Die geest beduidt op 't aanzicht van een bloed: 4
Er om 't getal dier fraaiheên vol te maken,
Eens Financiers verwaande domme snoet. 5
En dat moet ik, dat moet een Dichter wezen !
Gelooft gy 't ooit, die deze monsters ziet?
Geeft, wat ik schreef, één trek daar van te lezen
Zoo zeg gerust: "Hy kent zich zelven niet.”
Maar zacht een poos!.. Hoe langer hoe verkeerder!
Men vormt my na uit Pottebakkers aard; 6
Doch de Adamskop beschaamt den kunstbootseerder,
En 't zielloos ding is zelfs den klei niet waard...
Nu komt er een, die zal u 't echte leven
In lenig wasch met volle lijk'nis geven;
2 1788. 3 1806. 4 1813. 5 1820.
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