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
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