ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. Joseph Spence
, in "To Mr. Ramsay, upon his publishing his second Volume of Poems" 1728 ca.; London Magazine 25 (December 1756) 605.
Rev. Joseph Spence:
1726: Elijah Fenton
1726: Rev. Christopher Pitt
1728: Rev. Christopher Pitt
1728: William Somervile
1730: George Woodward
1738: Rev. James De La Cour
1747: Thomas Gray
1748: Robert Dodsley
1750: Horace Walpole
1750 ca.: Rev. Glocester Ridley
1758: William Shenstone
1759: Rev. Thomas Blacklock
1760: Joseph Highmore
1764: James Woodhouse
1768: W. S. T
1768: Bp. Robert Lowth
1772: Rev. John Duncombe
1773: Samuel Johnson
1779: Rev. Vicesimus Knox
1780: Horace Walpole
1790 ca.: Edmond Malone
1797: Rev. Joseph Warton
1800 ca.: Robert Southey
1818: Lord Byron
1820: Isaac D'Israeli
1820: Rev. Luke Booker
1820: William Hazlitt
1828: Leigh Hunt
1834: John Wilson
1842: C. H. Timperley
1892: Austin Dobson
1910: Ralph Straus
1728 ca.: Allan Ramsay
1728: Rev. Joseph Spence
1740: John Philips
1740: Alexander Pope
In vain shall canker'd Zoilus assail,
While Spence presides, and candor hold the scale.
His gen'rous breast, nor envy sours, nor spite,
Taught by his founder's motto how to write,
Good manners guides his pen. Learn'd without pride,
In dubious points not forward to decide,
If here and there uncommon beauties rise,
From flow'r to flow'r he roves with glad surprise.
In failings no malignant pleasure takes,
Nor rudely triumphs over small mistakes.
No nauseous praise, no biting taunts offend,
W' expect a censor, and we find a friend.
Poets, improved by his correcting care,
Shall face their foes with more undaunted air,
Strip'd of their rages shall like Ulysses shine,
No pomp of learning, and no fund of sense,
Can e'er attone for lost benevolence.
May Wickham's sons, who in each art excel,
And rival ancient bards in writing well,
While from their bright examples taught they sing,
And emulate their flights with bolder wing,
From their own frailties learn the humbler part,
Mildly to judge in gentleness of heart.
Such criticks, (Ramsay) jealous for our fame,
Will not with malice insolently blame.