But ah! how unsecure thy throne!
A thousand bards thy right disown:
They plot to turn, in factious zeal,
Duncenia to a common weal;
And with rebellious arms pretend
An equal privilege to descend.
In bulk there are not more degrees
From elephants to mites in cheese,
Than what a curious eye may trace
In creatures of the rhyming race.
From bad to worse, and worse they fall;
But who can reach the worst of all?
For though, in nature, depth and height
Are equally held infinite:
In poetry, the height we know.;
'Tis only infinite below.
For instance: when you rashly think,
No rhymer can like Welsted[1] sink,
His merits balanc'd, you shall find
The laureate[2] leaves him far behind.
Concannen, more aspiring bard.
Soars downward deeper by a yard.
Smart Jemmy Moore[3] with vigour drops;
The rest pursue as thick as hops:
- ↑ That the merits of Mr. Welsted as a poet have been much underrated, and his fair fame as a worthy member of society unwarrantably traduced, an appeal may confidently be made to his Miscellaneous Works in Verse and Prose, first collected in 1787, 8vo; and to the biographical memoirs prefixed to that collection.
- ↑ In some edition, instead of the laureate, was maliciously inserted the name of Mr. Fielding; for whose ingenious writings the supposed author manifested a great esteem.
- ↑ James Moore Smith, esq., author of "The Rival Modes," an unsuccessful comedy, was chiefly remarkable for a consummate assurance as a plagiarist. See his character at large, in the Dunciad, II, 50.
