The Sun.
London, England, 1818-04-25 00:00:00

P 0! R

THIRD EPISTLE TO THE EDINBURGH REVIEWERS

Ecce iterum Crispinus.

Again it- is my will and pleasure,
TO change my 111411fier and my measure ;
And save you fronts satiety,
By giving you variety :
Why does CEitvANTEs so delight ?
Because, before we're tir'd of Knight,
lie is relies 'd by Sancho Pauza.

Some time ago, in four-lin'd stanza,
Ca inconsistency-progression,
I did, and needs must make confession,
Give you, ReviewerS dread, to grace
In climax the Omega place.
There I did call you inconsistent;
And is there one who will not this grant,
If gifted with enough of brains
To know what inconsistent means ?
Compound of " Sistens' " and of Con,
Revers'A by In—it can by tone
ruisconceiv'd—who are but pat in
The simple elements of Latin.
What from such knowledge then should hinder
You, who can e'en see faults.in PrxlMa ?
who of coarse can chatter Greek
" As naturally as pigs squeak ?"
Yet should it pose you—to some whelp
Of Pt WAN'S school apply for help:
Whose verse, harmonious as High Dutch,
Surpass'd, you said, the Southerns much,
And had, in contest, fairly beaten.
The Strains of Westminster and Eton.
Ask, and you'll hear without delay,
That inconsistent things are they
Which in a strict and literal sense
- Cannot together stand—and hence,
By metaphor,-is us'd the word
For what is strange, uncouth, absurd
As legs by arms, and arms by legs
Companiou'd—Leat laying eggs—
A horse's neck on human head—
Gold form'd by Alchymist from lead—.A modest woman dancing waltz,
Or any woluan without faults—
A lord at plough—at. Court a farmer—
A puss in boots, or hog in armour—
Or, what would still be greater wonder,
Scotch Critics With one grain of candour.
You, crabbed Edinhtirgbian elves,
Nut inconsistent with yourselves.
But stop—take you the Devil's due.
You are consistent—yes—'tis true,
In one, and that the Devil's plan,
Of doing all the harm you can.
So far you are—how far you're not,
To strew the world is now my lot;
And, as I wish to stand aloof
Front bare assertion without proof,
I now will try to prove the question
By circumstance and plain suggestions.

Thus I begin then to unmask you—
Suppose some querist now should ask you,
(14iterist, you know, means one that's queer,
And will not by your rudder steer)
Suppose he now should ask aloud—
You're honest friends ? sure that's allow'd—
You England love ? to our heart's core—
You'd have her flourish ? more and more—
Think you her hallow'd Constitution
Would need a frenzied Revolution ?
No—no—we deprecate a storm,
And ask but moderate &form.

Such your professions—what your deeds?
(For actions oft sqltare not with creeds).
Your• country's standards were unfurl'd
To save, if so she might, the world.—
You strove, by cavil and chicane,
To make your country's efforts rain.
In that dread strife your country won
High fame, by deeds of glory done—
You strove to tarnish that high fame
By sneer, and scoff, and treacherous blame.

Assail.'d at once by fraud and force,
Your Country held a stedfast rSe ;
Brave were her armies and her fleets,And yet she sometimes Wet defeats.
1.10,61 as these were, you made them worse,
And seem'd to joy io cads reverse:
Ndt satisfied with present ill,
You tried your prophecying skill,
And strove tostrike our Rulers dumb
By threats of evils yet to come.
To foes without—a crying sin,
You strove to add worse foes within—
/tad thus to paralize by faction
Your haraSssil Country's powers of action.
Yet you your Coiiiitry love—you say—
Yes—as a Lion loves hisirrey,
Who holds it tilm in his embraces,—
For what?—to tear its frame to pieces.,„

'Tis Lions then that make this diti—
Say, rather, .I,:ses in their skin—
And you for roar their bray mistake.
No—let us not our course forsake;
Truth-speakers we—not mere deriders--
Not Lions they—but his providers—
These barking pests—of good these lack-alls—
In truth were BunsarAirries Jackal's.
Would they were shaming his mishap, •
Caught in the St. Helena trap, •
Thus, with him prisan'd in his den,
They might regret their Country then,
And in that tropic clime far distaat,
Moan) they had not been more consistent.

The Querist now renews his search—
Pray,' tell me, du you love the Church ?
With hesitation, and wry face or two,
At last you answer—yes—we do.
Now let us see how you abuse,
How ill its three great branches use.
Which we, like SWIFT, for shortness sake,
_ Will Pc-rEtt, JourN, and Marcus make.
" PErmes a persecuting dog—,
" MARTIN, at once the stork and log—
" Aud JACK a savage Ragamotha,
" Who, like the others, rules by cuffing.
" Then since they can't agree together,
" But all attempt to break their tether—
" Since each relentless cruel Brolher
" Delights to plague and teizr the other—
" Oh ! let us struggle to get free,
" And if we can turn out all three."
Fine lore is this ! Yet such the zeal
Which for the Church's good you feel !
• Should not by its own had or good
A book he judged ? It surely should.
And would you at the author throw
Reproach for dress, birth, trade ? No—no.
To laugh at PARR for words too big, •
Was fair—but why attack his wig ?
At THELward. too you tuned course railer,
Because he once had been a Tailor—
I cannot say the man I like,
Yet who lint blockheads so would strike ?
Nay, whilst reviewing Maui's book,
You would nut spare the pastry-cook,
And said his style had all the heat
Of soup, and was as custard sweet—
Seems this fit conduct in your sight ?
Was this consistent, just and right ?
Then came a minor—and his book
Presented with a suppliant look—
In rain the humble plea he urg'd ;
Ile was the more severely Scourg'd—
Call'd stripling, witling, silly Lord,
For whom contempt were fit reward—
Soon the same Stripling writes again—
Now honey trickled ffom his pen.
He was a hard of highest cast,
Who far all modern hzrds surpased--..
fley day—why this is mighty strange—
From whence proceeded this great change?
How did the bard contrive to cure
The malice of the Scotch Reviewer ?
'By flattery, bride, or sop in pan?
Nu, by a more effectual plan—
By satire he the Critics shain'd—
By satire's lash the Critics taui'd—
Till whipt out all their gall and heat.
They croych'd like dogs, and lick'd his feet.
" Ah me ! what perils do environ
" The man that meddles with cold iron !"
So BUTLER says—but I—Lord BYrtoN!
With his dread name I close this letter,
And hope my next will prove much better.