[Footnote 1:  A notorious Irish poetaster, whose name had become proverbial.—­Scott.]

ON CARTHY’S TRANSLATION OF LONGINUS

High as Longinus to the stars ascends,
So deeply Carthy to the centre tends.

RATIO INTER LONGINUM ET CARTHIUM COMPUTATA

Aethereas quantum Longinus surgit in auras,
Carthius en tantum ad Tartara tendit iter.

ON THE SAME

What Midas touch’d became true gold, but then, Gold becomes lead touch’d lightly by thy pen.

CARTHY KNOCKED OUT SOME TEETH FROM HIS NEWS-BOY

For saying he could not live by the profits of Carthy’s works, as they did not sell.

I must confess that I was somewhat warm, I broke his teeth, but where’s the mighty harm?  My work he said could ne’er afford him meat, And teeth are useless where there’s nought to eat!

TO CARTHY
On his sending about specimens to force people to subscribe to his
Longinus.

Thus vagrant beggars, to extort
By charity a mean support,
Their sores and putrid ulcers show,
And shock our sense till we bestow.

TO CARTHY
On his accusing Mr. Dunkin for not publishing his book of Poems.

How different from thine is Dunkin’s lot! 
Thou’rt curst for publishing, and he for not.

ON CARTHY’S PUBLISHING SEVERAL LAMPOONS, UNDER THE NAMES OF INFAMOUS POETASTERS

So witches bent on bad pursuits,
Assume the shapes of filthy brutes.

TO CARTHY

Thy labours, Carthy, long conceal’d from light,
Piled in a garret, charm’d the author’s sight,
But forced from their retirement into day,
The tender embryos half unknown decay;
Thus lamps which burn’d in tombs with silent glare,
Expire when first exposed to open air.

TO CARTHY, ATTRIBUTING SOME PERFORMANCES TO MR. DUNKIN

From the Gentleman’s London Magazine for January.

My lines to him you give; to speak your due,
’Tis what no man alive will say of you. 
Your works are like old Jacob’s speckled goats,
Known by the verse, yet better by the notes. 
Pope’s essays upon some for Young’s may pass,
But all distinguish thy dull leaden mass;
So green in different lights may pass for blue,
But what’s dyed black will take no other hue.

UPON CARTHY’S THREATENING TO TRANSLATE PINDAR

You have undone Horace,—­what should hinder
Thy Muse from falling upon Pindar? 
But ere you mount his fiery steed,
Beware, O Bard, how you proceed:—­
For should you give him once the reins,
High up in air he’ll turn your brains;
And if you should his fury check,
’Tis ten to one he breaks your neck.