THE DEFENCE, Thomas Chatterton Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T48948 K045459.000 Chatterton, Thomas, 1752-1770. A Supplement to the Miscellanies of Thomas Chatterton London printed for T. Becket, in Pall-Mall; Bookseller to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and Their Royal Highnesses the Princes. MDCCLXXXIV. 1784 pp. 35-38. [6],ii,88p.; 8⁰.

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THE DEFENCE , DEC. 25TH , 1769 . NO more , dear Smith , the hackney'd Tale renew ; I own their censure , I approve it too . For how can Ideots destitute of thought , Conceive , or estimate , but as they're taught ? Say , can the satirizing Pen of Shears , Exalt his name , or mutilate his ears ? None , but a Lawrence , can adore his Lays , Who in a quart of Claret drinks his praise . T—l—r repeats , what Catcott told before , But lying T—l—r is believ'd no more . If in myself I think my notions just , The Church and all her arguments are dust . Religion's but Opinion's bastard Son , A perfect mystery , more than three in one . 'Tis fancy all , distempers of the mind ; As Education taught us , we're inclin'd . Happy the man , whose reason bids him see , Mankind are by the state of Nature free ; Who , thinking for himself , despises those , That would upon his better sense impose ; Is to himself the Minister of God , Nor dreads the path , where Athanasius trod . Happy ( if Mortals can be ) is the Man , Who , not by Priest , but Reason rules his span ; Reason , to its Possessor a sure guide , Reason , a thorn in Revelations side . If Reason fails , incapable to tread Thro' gloomy Revelations thick'ning bed , On what authority the Church we own ? How shall we worship Deities unknown ? Can the Eternal Justice pleas'd receive The prayers of those , who , ignorant believe ? Search the thick multitudes of ev'ry Sect , The Church supreme , with Whitfield's new Elect ; No individual can their God define , No , not great Penny in his nervous Line . But why must Chatterton selected sit , The butt of ev'ry Critic's little wit ? Am I alone for ever in a crime ; Nonsense in Prose , or blasphemy in Rhyme ? All monosyllables a line appears ? Is it not very often so in Shears ? See gen'rous Eccas , length'ning out my praise Inraptur'd with the music of my Lays ; In all the arts of panegyric grac'd , The cream of modern Literary Taste . Why , to be sure , the metaphoric line Has something sentimental , tender , fine ; But then how hobbling are the other two ; There are some beauties , but they're very few . Besides the Author , 'faith 'tis something odd , Commends a reverential awe of God . Read but another fancy of his brain ; He's Atheistical in every strain . Fallacious is the charge : 'Tis all a lie , As to my reason I can testify . I own a God , immortal , boundless , wise , Who bid our glories of Creation rise ; Who form'd his varied likeness in mankind , Centring his many wonders in the mind ; Who saw Religion , a fantastic night But gave us Reason to obtain the light . Indulgent Whitfield scruples not to say , He only can direct to Heavens high-way . While Bishops , with as much vehemence tell , Both in the Author's hand-writing , and uncancelled . All sorts heterodox are food for Hell . Why then , dear Smith , since Doctors disagree , Their notions are not oracles to me : What I think right , I ever will pursue And leave you liberty to do so too .