More than half kill'd by honest truths which fell, Through thy own fault, from men who wish'd thee well-- Canst thou, e'en thus, thy thoughts to vengeance give, And, dead to all things else, to malice live? 430 Hence, dotard, to thy closet; shut thee in; By deep repentance wash away thy sin; From haunts of men to shame and sorrow fly, And, on the verge of death, learn how to die! Vain exhortation! wash the Ethiop white, Discharge the leopard's spots, turn day to night, Control the course of Nature, bid the deep Hush at thy pigmy voice her waves to sleep-- Perform things passing strange, yet own thy art Too weak to work a change in such a heart; 440 That Envy, which was woven in the frame At first, will to the last remain the same. Reason may droop, may die; but Envy's rage Improves by time, and gathers strength from age. Some, and not few, vain triflers with the pen, Unread, unpractised in the ways of men, Tell us that Envy, who, with giant stride, Stalks through the vale of life by Virtue's side, Retreats when she hath drawn her latest breath, And calmly hears her praises after death. 450 To such observers Hogarth gives the lie; Worth may be hearsed, but Envy cannot die; Within the mansion of his gloomy breast, A mansion suited well to such a guest, Immortal, unimpair'd, she rears her head, And damns alike the living and the dead. Oft have I known thee, Hogarth, weak and vain, Thyself the idol of thy awkward strain, Through the dull measure of a summer's day, In phrase most vile, prate long, long hours away, 460 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! 470 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 levell'd all the ancient schools; Condemn'd those works, with praise through ages graced, Which you had never seen, or could not taste; But would mankind have true perfection shown, It must be found in labours of my own: I dare to challenge, in one single piece, The united force of Italy and Greece. 480 Thy eager hand the curtain then undrew, And brought the boasted masterpiece 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[130] speaks. Poor Sigismunda! what a fate is thine! Dryden, the great high-priest of all the Nine, Revived thy name, gave what a Muse could give,