Footnote 19:
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ames Macpherson, Esq., who lately, from the mere force of his style,wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,[20] and Woodfalls[21] so grave,What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised,While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were bepraised!But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,To act as an angel and mix with the skies:Those poets who owe their best fame to his skillShall still be his flatterers, go where he will;Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love,And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature,And slander itself must allow him good-nature;He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper;Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper!Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser.Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?His very worst foe can't accuse him of that.Perhaps he confided in men as they go,And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, no!Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye!He was—could he help it?—a special attorney.Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,He has not left a wiser or better behind;His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;Still born to improve us in every part,His pencil our faces, his manners our heart;To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing:When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,He shifted his trumpet,[22] and only took snuff.
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