Rev. Charles Churchill

Anonymous, "On Mr. Churchill's late Poems. Occasion'd by his Verses written in Windsor Park" London Chronicle (23 August 1763) 183.

Forbear, fond bard, thy prostituted lays,
Big with abuse, but impotent of praise.
'Tis Malice stings thy Muse, not Virtue warms;
Her songs are baneful, like a witch's charms.
Here, where she aims to please by speaking well,
Nature recoils, and breaks th' unfinish'd spell.
The duller theme assimilates the song,
Or 'tis a herald's, not a poet's tongue
Proclaims "One "W—m to all hearts gives law,
The son of G—, the image of Nassau."

Slander's thy talent, and thou canst not flatter,
Meaning to celebrate, thou writ'st a satire;
The praise, in which you would imbalm his name,
Reminds us of the vice which blots his fame.
"His Country's saviour, who makes man his care,"
A victor once forbade the sword to spare.
A "Nimrod" him sad Cul—n beheld,
Indulging carnage thro' the conquer'd field.

Alike his Poet injures where he can,
And whom he deems a foe, would hurt a Man;
His Country's good prepost'rously pretends,
And aid to Faction, which disturbs it, lends:
Faction! that slander'd, by a wretched pen,
The best of Sovereigns, and the best of Men.
May Heav'n, which Britain in that Sovereign guards,
Save her from such a "Saviour" and such Bards!