ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Rev. Charles Churchill
An Old Westminster, "The Splenetic Lion. A Fable" St. James's Chronicle (20 February 1762).
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
An Old Westminster:
1762: Rev. Charles Churchill
CHURCHILL was sick, and hung his Head;
The Play'rs and Critics thought him dead:
They thought him, but were sorely bit,
Not dead in Law, but dead in Wit;
A Bankrupt, who, on such a Day,
Had promis'd much, but could not pay.
DULLNESS, his Foe, a potent Queen,
On which his Muse, a mettled Nag,
Slacken'd her Speed, and seem'd to flag;
Which so rejoyc'd the Scribbling Trade,
They call'd his Pegasus a Jade.
Like Punks releas'd, who still are sore,
In noisy Taunts their Joy ran o'er.
Alas, poor Souls! — would I were able!
—I'll try my best — to give a Fable!
A LION once, whose mighty Paw
Kept all the Neighbourhood in awe,
Grew dull, and mop'd, and lov'd his Den—
For Beasts have Whims as well as Men.
An Ass at Distance saw him lying,
And told his Neighbours he was dying:
Ten thousand Freaks their Hearts betraying,
They fell to frisking, bleating, braying!
Hey, cries the Fox, why all this Joy?
—See there! — he's dead. — Huzza, my Boy!
—And is't for this ye bound and skip?
His Majesty has got the Hip:
Which rooted deep, and let alone,
Will waste him to the very Bone:
Be quiet, Fools, and let him doze!
'Tis Poison to him this Repose.
'Tis well for us he likes to house him;
But Woe betide us, if ye rouse him!
Be wise, ye Asses, Wolves, and Sheep!
Sneak off! — and let the LION sleep!