The Poets, a Town Eclogue

Where Hackney Ladies take their nightly stand, And Cath'rine Street runs foul into the Strand, K—ck, with self-importance swelling high, Caught Isaac B—ff's felonious eye: Each scowl'd awhile on each, and neither spoke, 'Till Isaac thus the sullen silence broke.

B. Is it thou, William? K. William is my name. Shakespeare was William call'd, and I the same. His Name I bear, and bear his Talents too: Shakespeare drew Falstaff,—Falstaff K—ck drew; Rais'd the Fat Knight by his creative brain, And warm'd the Mummy into life again.

B. Thou vie with Shakespeare? Thou Supreme of Fools! Thou Prince of Coxcombs! Maker of Brass Rules! Whose mind no Science lights, no Muse inspires, But Hunger whets, Pride bloats, and Envy fires: Hence rumbling, grumbling, made of filth and noise, Thou scar'st Old Women, Booksellers, and Boys: Sense stops the nose, Wit winks, and Fools admire, While—crack, fiz, bounce!—You in a stink expire, On Settle, Dennis, Durfey, graft thy Fame, But blend not with thine own great Shakespeare's Name! Trouble the Ghost of honest Jack no further, Whom Shakespeare kill'd to stop his future murther!

K. What, if these glories tamely I resign, Think, Isaac B—ff, the fate of thine! When good Queen Anna rul'd the British land, Genius and B—ff went hand in hand: Swift, Steele, and Addison, then wore the name, And made it known to Humour and to Fame. But Time and Chance that William threw on me, Have blasted Isaac B—ff in Thee! On what base wretches names may fall at last! Oh how unlike the present and the past! Still brewing thy Rhetorical Small-Beer, Thou serv'st the Town a Kilderkin each year; Feed'st, like a Hog, upon Dramatick Grains; And draw'st the taplash of another's brains. Charles Johnson, Parson Miller, with a train Of Playwrights long forgot in Drury Lane; See their last dregs into the Mash-tub cast, To work up Village Loves, and strengthen Dr. Last.

More and much more the warring Poets said, When Griffin issued forth from Garrick's Head. End, end your Strife, he cried; come in, and dine! Mince-pyes invite, plump Turkey, and fat Chine. On Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, vent your rage; Attack the Arts, Church, Army, Bar or Stage! Join in the Cheer a merry Christmas sends, Write Grub-street Chronicles, and live good Friends!