ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. Charles Churchill
Cuthbert Shaw, in The Race (1765; 1766) 24-25.
Rev. Charles Churchill:
1762: An Old Westminster
1762: X. Y.
1762: A Friend
1763: Rev. Charles Churchill
1763: Samuel Johnson
1763: T. L
1763: George Colman
1763: Rev. John Langhorne
1763: Elizabeth Montagu
1763: Robert Lloyd
1763: Horace Walpole
1764: J. C-rr
1764: S. Sh-rs
1764: John Cunningham
1764: Thomas Gray
1764: Horace Walpole
1764: J. C.
1764: Jane Timbury
1764: T. C.
1764: Christopher Crabtree
1764: T. W.
1765: Cuthbert Shaw
1765: James Beattie
1765: J. D.
1765: Edward Cooper
1765: Rev. Evan Lloyd
1765: J. D.
1766: W. J.
1769: Mr. Underwood
1780: Thomas Davies
1781: A Lady
1782: William Cowper
1782: Rev. Joseph Warton
1785: H. S.
1786: William Cowper
1788: Rev. William Mason
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1801: Thomas Clio Rickman
1808: Sir Walter Scott
1811: Anna Seward
1812: John Nichols
1812: Charles Caleb Colton
1814: Robert Southey
1816: Lord Byron
1817: John Chalk Claris
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1825 ca.: Henry Mackenzie
1827: William Goodhugh
1830 ca.: Rev. Henry Francis Cary
1834: Robert Aris Willmott
1835: Robert Southey
1845: John Wilson
1848: John Forster
1858: Cyrus Redding
1880: Edward John Payne
1882: Epes Sargent
1895: W. J. Courthope
1765: Dr. John Armstrong
1765: Rev. John Brown
1765: Rev. Charles Churchill
1765: Robert Dodsley
1765: Daniel Hayes
1765: Samuel Johnson
1765: David Mallet
1765: William Shenstone
1765: Tobias Smollett
1765: William Whitehead
1765: William Woty
Next Churchill came — his face proclaim'd a heart,
That scorn'd to wear the smooth address of art,
Srongly mark'd out that firm unconquer'd soul,
Which nought on earth could bias or controul.
He bow'd — when all sneer at his want of grace,
An uncouth form, ill-suited to the Race;
Whilst he contemptuous smil'd on all around,
And thus addrest her in a voice profound.
"Goddess, these gnatlings move not me at all,
I come by just decrees to stand or fall.
When first the daring bard aspires to sing,
To check the follies of his infant wing,
Critics not only try (your pardon, Fame,
To you a stranger is the Critic's name)
But every blockhead, who pretends to write,
Would damp his vigour, and retard his flight.
Critics, oh Fame! are things compos'd between
The two ingredients, Ignorance and Spleen;
Who, like the Daw, wou'd infamously tear
The shining plumes they see another wear,
That thus unfeather'd by these wretched elves,
All may appear as naked as themselves.
"Hard is the task in such a cause t' engage
With fools and knaves eternal war to wage,
By fears or partial feelings unsubdu'd,
To hurl defiance at so vast a croud;
To stand the teizing of their little spleen,
So oft to clear the witling-crouded scene;
From vice and folly tear the foul disguise,
And crush at once the Hydras as they rise.
Yet on I will — unaw'd by slavish fears,
Till gain'd the glorious point, or lost my ears."