Then why not unearth it in one of your
lectures?
Byron
Sir, your taste is too common; but time and posterity
Will right these great men, and this age's severity 100
Become its reproach.
_Ink_. I've no sort of objection,
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
_Lady Blueb_. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will _take_?
_Ink_. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take--what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;--but the subject's a bore.
_Lady Bluem_. Well, sir, the time's coming.
_Ink_. Scamp! don't you feel sore?
What say you to this?
_Scamp_. They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown, 110
_Ink_.
Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?
_Scamp_. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.
_Lady Blueb_. Come, a truce with all tartness;--the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature! --Grand Shakespeare!
_Both_. And down Aristotle!
_Lady Bluem_. Sir George[628] thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four,[629] who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. 120
_Tra_. And you, Scamp! --
_Scamp_. I needs must confess I'm embarrassed.
_Ink_.
Will right these great men, and this age's severity 100
Become its reproach.
_Ink_. I've no sort of objection,
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
_Lady Blueb_. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will _take_?
_Ink_. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take--what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;--but the subject's a bore.
_Lady Bluem_. Well, sir, the time's coming.
_Ink_. Scamp! don't you feel sore?
What say you to this?
_Scamp_. They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown, 110
_Ink_.
Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?
_Scamp_. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.
_Lady Blueb_. Come, a truce with all tartness;--the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature! --Grand Shakespeare!
_Both_. And down Aristotle!
_Lady Bluem_. Sir George[628] thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four,[629] who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. 120
_Tra_. And you, Scamp! --
_Scamp_. I needs must confess I'm embarrassed.
_Ink_.
