Present Taste

ONE day meeting Momus, it was upon 'Change,
Accosting the Droll with—What News?
By the Foot of Alcides (quoth he) it is strange,
That the English shou'd England abuse.
As Locusts, in swarms cross the seas for their prey,
As Woodcocks first fleshless appear,
So shoals of imported Illib'rals this day,
(Necessity's Troop) landed here.

Not a Stroller from France, not a Vagrant from Rome,
Not a Swiss with a Marmozet Shew,
But here Men of Science and Breeding become,
Outlandish Folks ev'ry thing know.
The Rich will receive them as Flattery's Imps,
Servility grins in their looks,
And British-born Artists are elbow'd by Pimps,
By Hair-Dressers, Dancers, and Cooks.

English Merit, in vain, may attempt at the lead,
All the Wit in the world we may waste;
But Things from beyond Sea are sure to succeed
They hit the high fashion of Taste.
To Taste and to Honour who has not a claim?
They are worn without any expence;
They are self-bestow'd Gifts, they're Egotists Fame,
They're Knav'ry and Dunces Defence.

English might be allow'd in the rude days of yore,
Such Vulgars we caant now endure;
There is something so soft in the sound of Signior,
And immensely polite in Messieur.
How coarse sounds the SANDBYS? in Merit indeed,
Those Brothers embellish the age?
Can such a rude name now as Rooker succeed?
Besides he belongs to the Stage.

All's vulgar and horrid, low, wretched, and flat,
Of us thus the Connoissieur speaks;
But exquisite fine, 'tis immense, and all that,
When he talks about Gothics and Greeks.
Perhaps my Address a Presumption may seem,
And receiv'd by the Rich as a Sneer;
But with all YOU are worth, to be worthy Esteem,
Do JUSTICE TO GENIUS BORN HERE.