To Mrs. Montague, Author of "Observations on the Genius and Writings of Shakespeare"
To Mrs. MONTAGUE, Author of " O BSERVATIONS on the G ENIUS
and Writings of S HAKESPEARE . "
W ILL Montague , whose critic pen adds praise,
Ev'n to a Shakespeare's bold exalted lays;
Who points the faults in sweet Corneille's page,
Sees all the errors of the Gallic stage —
Corrects Voltaire with a superior hand,
Or traces genius in each distant land ?
Will she across the Atlantic stretch her eye,
Look o'er the main, and view the western sky;
And there Columbia's infant drama see —
Reflect that Britain taught us to be free;
Survey with candour what she can't approve;
Let local fondness yield to gen'rous love;
And, if fair truth forbids her to commend,
Then let the critic soften to the friend.
The bard of Avon justly bears the meed
Of fond applause, from Tyber to the Tweed;
Each humbler muse at distance may admire,
But none to Shakespeare's fame ere dare aspire.
And if your isle, where he so long has charm'd,
If Britain's sons, when by his mantle warm'd,
Have soar'd in vain to reach his lofty quill,
Nature to paint with true Shakespearean skill —
A sister's hand may wrest a female pen,
From the bold outrage of imperious men.
If gentle Montague my chaplet raise,
Critics may frown, or mild good nature praise;
Secure I'll walk, and placid move along,
And heed alike their censure or their song;
I'll take my stand by fam'd Parnassus' side,
And for a moment feel a poet's pride.
and Writings of S HAKESPEARE . "
W ILL Montague , whose critic pen adds praise,
Ev'n to a Shakespeare's bold exalted lays;
Who points the faults in sweet Corneille's page,
Sees all the errors of the Gallic stage —
Corrects Voltaire with a superior hand,
Or traces genius in each distant land ?
Will she across the Atlantic stretch her eye,
Look o'er the main, and view the western sky;
And there Columbia's infant drama see —
Reflect that Britain taught us to be free;
Survey with candour what she can't approve;
Let local fondness yield to gen'rous love;
And, if fair truth forbids her to commend,
Then let the critic soften to the friend.
The bard of Avon justly bears the meed
Of fond applause, from Tyber to the Tweed;
Each humbler muse at distance may admire,
But none to Shakespeare's fame ere dare aspire.
And if your isle, where he so long has charm'd,
If Britain's sons, when by his mantle warm'd,
Have soar'd in vain to reach his lofty quill,
Nature to paint with true Shakespearean skill —
A sister's hand may wrest a female pen,
From the bold outrage of imperious men.
If gentle Montague my chaplet raise,
Critics may frown, or mild good nature praise;
Secure I'll walk, and placid move along,
And heed alike their censure or their song;
I'll take my stand by fam'd Parnassus' side,
And for a moment feel a poet's pride.
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