Having given great offence by writing in Prose

Having given great offence by writing in Prose,
I'll write in Verse as soft as Bartolloze.
Some blush at what others can see no crime in;
But nobody sees any harm in Rhyming.
Dryden, in rhyme, cries 'Milton only plann'd:'
Every Fool shook his bells throughout the land.
Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving:
Thousands of connoisseurs with joy ran raving.
Thus, Hayley on his Toilette seeing the sope,
Cries 'Homer is very much improv'd by Pope.'
Some say I've given great Provision to my foes,
And that now I lead my false friends by the nose.
Flaxman and Stothard, smelling a sweet savour,
Cry 'Blakefied drawing spoils painter and Engraver;'
While I, looking up to my Umbrella,
Resolv'd to be a very contrary fellow,
Cry, looking quite from skumference to center,
'No one can finish so high as the original Inventor.'
Thus Poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek —
A thing that's tied around the Examiner's neck!
This is my sweet apology to my friends,
That I may put them in mind of their latter ends.