"Oft have I known Thee, HOGARTH, weak and vain, Thyself the idol of thy aukward strain, Through the dull measure of a summer's day, In phrase most vile, prate long, long hours away, Whilst Friends with Friends, all gaping sit, and gaze To hear a HOGARTH babble HOGARTH'S praise. But if athwart thee Interruption came, And mention'd with respect some Ancient's name, Some Ancient's name, who in the days of yore The crown of Art with greatest honour wore, How have I seen thy coward cheek turn pale, And blank confusion seize thy mangled tale! How hath thy Jealousy to madness grown, And deem'd his praise injurious to thy own! Then without mercy did thy wrath make way, And Arts and Artists all became thy prey; Then didst Thou trample on establish'd rules, And proudly level'd all the ancient schools; Condemn'd those works, with praise through ages grac'd, Which you had never seen, or could not taste. 'But would mankind have true Perfection shewn, It must be found in labours of my own. I dare to challenge in one single piece, Th' united force of ITALY and GREECE.' Thy eager hand the curtain then undrew, And brought the boasted Master-piece to view. Spare thy remarks--say not a single word-- The Picture seen, why is the Painter heard? Call not up Shame and Anger in our cheeks: Without a Comment SIGISMUNDA speaks. "Poor SIGISMUNDA! what a Fate is thine! DRYDEN, the great High-Priest of all the Nine, Reviv'd thy name, gave what a Muse could give, And in his Numbers bade thy Memory live; Gave thee those soft sensations, which might move And warm the coldest Anchorite to Love; Gave thee that Virtue, which could curb desire, Refine and consecrate Love's headstrong fire; Gave thee those griefs, which made the Stoic feel, And call'd compassion forth from hearts of steel; Gave thee that firmness, which our Sex may shame, And make Man bow to Woman's juster claim, So that our tears, which from compassion flow, Seem to debase thy dignity of woe! But O, how much unlike! how fall'n! how chang'd! How much from Nature and herself estrang'd! How totally depriv'd of all the powers To shew her feelings, and awaken ours, Doth SIGISMUNDA now devoted stand, The helpless victim of a Dauber's hand! "But why, _my_ HOGARTH, such a progress made, So rare a Pattern for the sign-post trade, In the full force and whirlwind of thy pride, Why was _Heroic_ Painting laid aside? Why is It not resum'd? Thy Friends at Court, Men all in place and power, crave thy support; Be grateful then for once, and, through the field Of Politics, thy _Epic_ Pencil wield; Maintain the cause, which they, good lack! avow, And would maintain too, but they know not how.