"Thou boast'st, vain Churchill, with thy gray goose quill, Thou'st kill'd, or surely wilt poor Hogarth kill. Alas! he (with the world) will only smile At self-importance in a frippery style. 'Churchill, stand forth!'--I call thee not my friend;-- The sober dictates of my lines attend. "Wast thou, like Hogarth, _in thine own way good_, Thou in the reading-desk might'st yet have stood; Though poor,--perhaps a reputable curate,-- Sad! that thy stubborn heart is yet obdurate. Without fair hope of pension or of place, To make a shipwreck of _divinest grace_!" --EPHRAIM KNOX. _To Mr. Hogarth._ "BRIGHTHELMSTONE, _July 9, 1763_. "SIR,--You see the effects of the salt waters here; they incline us to scribble by way of amusement. I have sent you the following stanzas, which you may print or do what you please with:-- _To the Rev. C. Churchill._ "Non ut pictura poesis." "Dear Churchill, what ill-fated hour Has put thee into Hogarth's power? This railing shows how much you're hurt, While Hogarth nothing meant but sport; Transmitting unto future times What might not live in Churchill's rhymes,-- The perfect hero, poet, sage! The pride, the wonder of the age! That form,--which eating Peers admired,-- Which heaven-born liberty inspir'd! Which keeps our ministers in awe, And is from justice screen'd by law! "The sad resource to which you're driven, Appears by your appeal to heaven: A place ne'er thought on once before,-- Withdraw th' appeal and give it o'er. You must proceed by different ways; _Your_ only court's the Common Pleas. "Horace was wrong when once he said, Hogarth and he were of a trade. No varying verse, howe'er divine, Can match with Raphael's stronger line. The pencil, like contracted light, Strikes with superior force the sight. "Churchill, be wise: in time retire, While Hogarth yet suspends his fire; There's something in thee like a spell, Though we can't love,--we wish thee well. You ne'er can wish to purchase shame, By driving on a losing game: His feeble hand, though you despise it, Will make you tremble, should he rise it: Already has his fancy hit on A frontispiece for the _North Briton_; Where in full view the virtuous pair Shall thus their various merits share. "Thy rose and Bible thrown aside, And the long cassock's tatter'd pride; His liberal hand shall in their stead Place nettles circling round thy head, Entwin'd with thistles fully blown, To wear these honours _all thy own_! "Next, round thy friend, and all in taste, See every social _virtue_ plac'd; Fair Truth and modest Candour joined,-- Those softer emblems of the mind;