But when his spirit, rous'd by honest shame,
Shook off that lethargy, and soar'd to fame;
When with the pride of man resolv'd and strong,
He scorn'd those fears which did his honour wrong;
And on himself determin'd to rely,
Brought forth his labours to the public eye,
No friend in thee could such a rebel know,
He had desert, and Hogarth was his foe."
He must be a very weak artist indeed who would bury the talents which Nature gave, to gratify the whims of another man; but admitting a painter had been found "who suffered blank concealment to obscure those rays which jealousy could not endure," I cannot comprehend how it concerned Hogarth. His walk was all his own: even now he need not dread a rival there. Mr. Churchill acknowledges that in walks of humour
"Hogarth unrivall'd stands, and shall engage