Doctor Walcot. Quæ mens est hodie, cur eadem non puero fuit, Vel cur his animis incolumes non redeunt genæ. Ah! wherefore do I not possess the playful mind of my boyish days? Why have the roses fled my cheeks, divesting them of youthful beauty? YEARS EARS back, in his zenith, arch Walcot or Pindar Scorch'd feelings of Majesty up to a cinder; When handling the topic of creeper on plate, That headlong was hurl'd from the cook's curly pate. Nor did he with feelings of Monarch less grapple, On the subject of paste, when enclosing an apple. Great Banks, dubb'd Sir Joseph, alike felt his satire, Who, prating of fleas, knew no jot of the matter: For, after conjectures and all that was said, Fleas boil'd prov'd no lobsters, not changing to red. To these add whole volumes to purge wits turn'd sad; Nor least worthy praise the renown'd Rolliad : (k) The satirical effusions of Doctor Walcot have been so long before the public, and so universally read, that it would be needless to descant upon their sterling merits, which are universally acknowledged. That some flights are superior to others must be allowed; yet the tout en semble prove the writer to have possessed a fund of humour, and the most felicitous and flowing style of versification. He that wields the satiric pen, however, sometimes plays with edge tools: an assertion which was rendered conspicuous some few years back in a bookseller's shop in Piccadilly, when a dreadful rencontre took place between the Doctor and Mr. Gifford, of equal literary lashing celebrity; upon which occasion, the argumentum baculinum was manfully resorted to, and as vigorously repelled. The counte But further to show that the Muses combin'd To nurture each gem in our Doctor's warm mind, Leave satire, and fly on the wings of the dove, You'll find him as well vers'd in feeling and love. (1) nances of our satiric combatants were doubtless of no pleasant cast upon this occasion; wherefore I shall annex an anecdote respecting Doctor Warburton, which may, perhaps, tend to give the reader some faint idea of the looks of Messrs. Walcot and Gifford, upon the meeting in question. Doctor Warburton being one day in conversation with his bookseller, Churchill happened to come into the shop, and silently observed the right reverend prelate. When he departed, Churchill asked what was the name of the clergyman who had just gone out; and on being told that he was Doctor Warburton, the bishop of Gloucester! Why, he looks as if he would say to the Apostle Paul if he should meet him, D-n you, hold my horse!!! (1) If Doctor Walcot be celebrated as a satirical writer, he is no less capable of producing the amatory and tender styles of poesy, many of which, already before the public, will testify for the veracity of this assertion: in addition to which, a number of manuscript effusions, dedicated to Anacreon and Love, were In fine, he in gall could the iron point wreak, To teach what love should be with children of men. If wise, he from Pegasus then had dismounted, Nor deeds of the Cornish-man ever recounted:(m) But such is, alas! the known frailty of man, He pursues still the race, tho' his vigour is wan. So all closing flights to his mind best appear, Tho' the public exclaims-What a falling off here! some time back lent for the writer's private perusal, which, after this gentleman's demise, will in all probability make their appearance, to charm and astonish the votaries of lyrical compositions. (m) This pamphlet, which made its appearance in order to ridicule the fact of a bribe having been offered to Lord Sidmouth, at that time Chancellor of the Exchequer, by an ignorant native of Cornwall, for the procurement of a place under government, is one of the most impotent productions that has appeared from the pen of Doctor Walcot. Great Pindar, I grant all the praises thy due; And brandy in vain wou'd awake Poet's powers. On those laurels acquir'd in thy zenith now rest, Till the fever of life is extinct in thy breast. I love thee, O Walcot! and thus close my metreIf parted on earth, may we meet above-Peter. |