The Lex Talionis Upon Benjamin West

West tells the world that Peter can not rhyme--
Peter declares, point blank, that West can't paint.
West swears I've not an atom of sublime--
I swear he hath no notion of a saint;

And that his cross-wing'd cherubim are fowls,
Baptized by naturalists, owls:
Half of the meek apostles, gangs of robbers;
His angels, sets of brazen-headed lubbers.

The Holy Scripture says, "All flesh is grass,"
With Mr. West, all flesh is brick and brass;
Except his horse-flesh, that I fairly own
Is often of the choicest Portland stone.
I've said it too, that this artist's faces
Ne'er paid a visit to the graces:

That on expression he can never brag:
Yet for this article hath he been studying,
But in it never could surpass a pudding-
No, gentle reader, nor a pudding-bag.

I dare not say, that Mr. West
Can not sound criticism impart:
I'm told the man with technicals is blest,
That he can talk a deal upon the art;
Yes, he can talk, I do not doubt it--
"About it, goddess, and about it."

Thus, then, is Mr. West deserving praise--
And let my justice the fair laud afford;
For, lo! this far-fam'd artist cuts both ways,
Exactly like the angel Gabriel's sword;
The beauties of the art his CONVERSE shows,
His CANVAS almost ev'ry thing that's bad!
Thus at th' Academy, we must suppose,
A man more useful never could be had:
Who in himself, a host, so much can do;
Who is both precept and example too!