12
THE ROSCIAD.
I hate those careless blunders which recall
Suspended sense, and prove it fiction all.
Suspended sense, and prove it fiction all.
W—d———d, endow'd with various pow'rs of face, 255
Great master in the science of Grimace,
From Ireland ventures, fav'rite of the Town,
Lur'd by the pleasing prospect of Renown.
His wit and humour in Distortion lye,
And all his merit enters at the eye. 260
We laugh, we clap,———but, on Reflection's birth,
We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth.
His walk of parts he fatally misplac'd,
And Inclination fondly took for Taste.
Hence hath the Town so often seen display'd 265
Beau in burlesque, high-life in masquerade.
Merit he had, some merit in his way,
But seldom found out in what part it lay.
In Bobadil, indeed, such praise he bore,
Such worthy praise, that Kitely scarce had more. 270
Great master in the science of Grimace,
From Ireland ventures, fav'rite of the Town,
Lur'd by the pleasing prospect of Renown.
His wit and humour in Distortion lye,
And all his merit enters at the eye. 260
We laugh, we clap,———but, on Reflection's birth,
We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth.
His walk of parts he fatally misplac'd,
And Inclination fondly took for Taste.
Hence hath the Town so often seen display'd 265
Beau in burlesque, high-life in masquerade.
Merit he had, some merit in his way,
But seldom found out in what part it lay.
In Bobadil, indeed, such praise he bore,
Such worthy praise, that Kitely scarce had more. 270
By turns transform'd into all kinds of shapes,
Constant to none, F—te laughs, cries, struts, and scrapes:
Now in the centre, now in van or rear,
The Proteus shifts, Bawd, Parson, Auctioneer.
His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, 275
Are all contain'd in this one word, Distort.
Constant to none, F—te laughs, cries, struts, and scrapes:
Now in the centre, now in van or rear,
The Proteus shifts, Bawd, Parson, Auctioneer.
His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, 275
Are all contain'd in this one word, Distort.
Doth
