Bufo, begone! with thee may Faction's fire, That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire. Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd, What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good! Since shared by knaves of high and low degree; Cromwell and Cataline: Guido Faux, and thee. By nature uninspired, untaught by art; With not one thought that breathes the feeling heart, With not one offering vow'd to Virtue's shrine, With not one pure unprostituted line; 10 Alike debauch'd in body, soul, and lays;-- For pension'd censure, and for pension'd praise, For ribaldry, for libels, lewdness, lies, For blasphemy of all the good and wise: Coarse violence in coarser doggrel writ, Which bawling blackguards spell'd, and took for wit: For conscience, honour, slighted, spurn'd, o'erthrown:-- Lo! Bufo shines the minion of renown. Is this the land that boasts a Milton's fire, And magic Spenser's wildly warbling lyre? 20 The land that owns the omnipotence of song, When Shakspeare whirls the throbbing heart along? The land, where Pope, with energy divine, In one strong blaze bade wit and fancy shine: Whose verse, by truth in virtue's triumph born, Gave knaves to infamy, and fools to scorn; Yet pure in manners, and in thought refined, Whose life and lays adorn'd and bless'd mankind? Is this the land, where Gray's unlabour'd art Soothes, melts, alarms, and ravishes the heart: 30 While the lone wanderer's sweet complainings flow In simple majesty of manly woe: Or while, sublime, on eagle pinion driven, He soars Pindaric heights, and sails the waste of Heaven? Is this the land, o'er Shenstone's recent urn, Where all the Loves and gentler Graces mourn? And where, to crown the hoary bard of night, [1] The Muses and the Virtues all unite? Is this the land where Akenside displays The bold yet temperate flame of ancient days? 40 Like the rapt sage, [2] in genius as in theme, Whose hallow'd strain renown'd Illyssus' stream: Or him, the indignant bard, [3] whose patriot ire, Sublime in vengeance, smote the dreadful lyre: For truth, for liberty, for virtue warm, Whose mighty song unnerved a tyrant's arm, Hush'd the rude roar of discord, rage, and lust, And spurn'd licentious demagogues to dust. Is this the queen of realms? the glorious isle, Britannia, blest in Heaven's indulgent smile? 50 Guardian of truth, and patroness of art, Nurse of the undaunted soul, and generous heart! Where, from a base unthankful world exiled, Freedom exults to roam the careless wild: Where taste to science every charm supplies, And genius soars unbounded to the skies? And shall a Bufo's most polluted name Stain her bright tablet of untainted fame? Shall his disgraceful name with theirs be join'd, Who wish'd and wrought the welfare of their kind? 60 His name, accurst, who, leagued with----[4] and Hell,