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sketch verse

scribed to the right hon c j fox

how wisdo and folly et, ix, and unite,

how virtue and vice blend their bck and their white,

how ni, th&039; ilstrio father of fiction,

nfounds rule and w, renciles ntradiction,

i sg: if these ortals, the critics, should btle,

i care not, not i—let the critics go whistle!

but now for a patron whose na and whose glory,

at once ay ilstrate and honour y story

thou first of our orators, first of our wits;

yet whose parts and acirents see jt cky hits;

with knowled vast, and with judgnt strong,

no an with the half of &039;e e&039;er uld go wrong;

with passions potent, and fancies bright,

no an with the half of &039;e e&039;er uld go right;

a rry, poor, isbegot n of the es,

for g thy na, offers fifty exces

good lord, what is an! for as siple he looks,

do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks;

with his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil,

all all he&039;s a proble t puzzle the devil

on his one rulg passion sir pope huly bours,

that, like th&039; old hebrew walkg-switch, eats up its neighbours:

ankd are his show-box—a friend, would you know hi?

pull the strg, rulg passion the picture will show hi,

what pity, rearg beauteo a syste,

one triflg particur, truth, should have iss&039;d hi;

for, spite of his fe theoretic positions,

ankd is a science defies defitions

rt all our alities each to its tribe,

and thk huan nature they truly describe;

have you found this, or t&039;other? there&039;s ore the d;

as by one drunken fellow his rades you&039;ll fd

but such is the fw, or the depth of the pn,

the ake of that wonderful creature called an,

no o virtues, whatever retion they ci

nor even o different shades of the sa,

though like as was ever brother