A hackney Author, who'd essayed All Hazards of the scribbling Trade; And failed to live by every Mode, From _Persian Tale_ to _Birthday Ode_; Embarked at last, thro' pure Starvation, In Theologic Speculation. 'Tis commonly affirmed his Pen Had been most orthodox till then; But oft, as SOCRATES has said, The Stomach's stronger than the Head; And, for a sudden Change of Creed, There is no _Jesuit_ like Need. Then, too, 'twas cheap; he took it all, By force of Habit, from the Gaul. He showed (the Trick is nowise new) That Nothing we believe is true; But chiefly that Mistake is rife Touching the point of _After-Life_; Here all were wrong from PLATO down: His Price (in Boards) was Half-a-Crown. The Thing created quite a Scare:-- He got a Letter from VOLTAIRE, Naming him _Ami_ and _Confrere_; Besides two most attractive Offers Of Chaplaincies from noted Scoffers. He fell forthwith his Head to lift, To talk of "I and DR. SW--FT;" And brag, at Clubs, as one who spoke, On equal Terms, with BOLINGBROKE. But, at the last, a Missive came That put the Copestone to his Fame. The Boy who brought it would not wait: It bore a _Covent-Garden_ Date;-- A woful Sheet with doubtful Ink. And Air of _Bridewell_ or the Clink, It ran in this wise:--_Learned Sir! We, whose Subscriptions follow here, Desire to state our Fellow-feeling In this Religion you're revealing. You make it plain that if so be_ _We 'scape on Earth from_ Tyburn Tree, _There's nothing left for us to fear In this--or any other Sphere. We offer you our Thanks; and hope Your Honor, too, may cheat the Rope!_ With that came all the Names beneath, As BLUESKIN, JERRY CLINCH, MACHEATH, BET CARELESS, and the Rest--a Score Of Rogues and _Bona Robas_ more. This _Newgate Calendar_ he read: 'Tis not recorded what he said. THE DILETTANT. The most oppressive Form of Cant Is that of your Art-Dilettant:-- Or rather "was." The Race, I own, To-day is, happily, unknown. A Painter, now by Fame forgot, Had painted--'tis no matter what; Enough that he resolved to try The Verdict of a critic Eye. The Friend he sought made no Pretence To more than candid Common-sense, Nor held himself from Fault exempt. He praised, it seems, the whole Attempt. Then, pausing long, showed here and there That Parts required a nicer Care,-- A closer Thought. The Artist heard, Expostulated, chafed, demurred.