ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, in Literary Anecdotes of the XVIII Century (1812-15) 3:331 & n.
1762: Ralph Griffiths
1812: John Nichols
1765: Rev. William Tooke
1776: Rev. William Cartwright
1776: Dr. William Coward
1776: Abraham Cowley
1776: Thomas Dekker
1776: Richard Flecknoe
1776: Rev. Peter Heylyn
1776: William King
1776: Sir Thomas Overbury
1776: Katherine Philips
1776: Edmund Smith
1776: Edmund Waller
1780: Sarah Fyge Egerton
1780: Elijah Fenton
1780: Edward Howard
1780: John Hughes
1780: Robert Lloyd
1780: Edmund Smith
1780: Rev. Thomas Yalden
1786: Rev. John Duncombe
1788: Rev. Henry Francis Cary
1788: William Hamilton Reid
1789: George Colman the Younger
1797: Rev. Robert Herrick
1801: William Congreve
1808: Bp. Thomas Percy
1812: Dr. Mark Akenside
1812: Samuel Boyse
1812: Rev. Charles Churchill
1812: Rev. John Cooke
1812: Thomas Edwards
1812: Rev. Henry Felton
1812: Rev. Thomas Gibbons
1812: Henry Headley
1812: Bp. John Law
1812: Judith Cowper Madan
1812: Elizabeth Montagu
1812: George Pooke
1812: Rev. Glocester Ridley
1814: George Ogle
1815: William Thomas Fitzgerald
The following facetious Dialogue between Sir William Browne and George Pooke, two modern Poets, in their respective styles, was printed in the public Newspapers.
SIR WILLIAM [Browne]:
George Pooke, I much commend your zeal,
For writing of Britannia's Weal,
And singing of her Glory;
When Charlotte's Royal Yacht set sail,
Rome, Scarlet Whore, at once turned pale,
And Terror seiz'd each Tory.
Sir Knight, I'm glad you praise my loyal Verse;
But you know not how I rehearse
In a bold Ode the wicked ways
Of Surgeons to get Bodies now-a-days?
How they do dig from under-ground,
A Corpse, whose Burial cost its Friends five Pound.
It is a shameful, monstrous thing,
That which I in my Ode did sing;
And as you are one of the Faculty,
I hope you'll put a stop to't before I die.
For I would not, both for France and Spain,
When George Pooke's buried, that he should be taken up again.
Nor when once my Life is gone,
Would I be a dissecting Feast for the King's Surgeon.
Well said, Old Steady; thou shalt sleep
Within the Ground, full ten feet deep:
For Surgeons, never dread them:
As I'm a Justice of the Peace,
I'll make the Knaves their rapine cease,
Or with an Axe behead 'em.
Then will I sing of Royal Charlotte's Yacht,
Where our fair Queen on velvet Cushion sate:
Sometimes she look'd to Mecklenberg again,
And then she ask'd how far it was to Britain,
Ancaster's noble Duchess her did comfort;
And as to the Jack Tars, they made some sport.
She had good wine, and sweetmeats of the best,
And she knew the Garter was not tyed in jest
Round Harcourt's Leg. — The Court's bound by Proxy
The Queen for to maintain, both wet and dry.
And when she thought of such a certain Thing,
She nothing fear'd from marrying the King.
Thy namesake, George, in blest abodes,
Will surely tell his brother Gods
Of all thy songs divine;
For me, my Odes should be resign'd;
I'd turn my back upon Mankind,
Could I but call them mine.
If any Reader, after perusing this Dialogue, should be disposed to enquire further respecting George Pooke, and has no objection to a hearty laugh; let him turn to Monthly Review, vol. XVII. p. 281; vol. XXVII. p. 158; vol. XXXVII. p. 315.