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65

Let these prefer a levee's harmless talk,
Be ask'd how often, and how far they walk,
Proud of a single word, nor hope for more,
Tho' Jenkinson is bleft with many a score ;
For other ears my honest number found,
With other praise those numbers shall be crown'd,
Praise that shall spread, no pow'r can make it less,
While Britain boasts the bulwark of her press.
Yes, fons of Freedom ! yes, to whom I pay,
Warm from the heart, this tributary lay ;
That lay shall live, tho' Court and Grub-street figh,
Your young Marcellus was not born to die.
The muse shall nurse him up to man's estate, 75
And break the black asperity of fate
Adınit him then your candidate for fame,
Pleas'd if in your review he read his name.
Tho' not with Mason and with Goldsmith put,
Yet cheek by jowl with Garrick, Colman, Foote, 80
But if with higher Bards that name you range,
His modesty must think your judgment strange-
So when o'er Crane-Court's philosophic Gods,
The Jove-like majesty of Pringle nods,
If e'er he chance to wake on Newton's chair,
He wonders how the devil he came there."

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Verse 76. And break the black afperity of fate.]

« Si qua fata afpera rumpas, Tu Marcellus eris."

VIRG.

Whate

Whate'er his fame or fate, on this depend He is, and means to be, his country's friend. 'Tis but to try his strength that now he sports With Chinese gardens, and with Chinese courts : 90 But if that country claim a graver strain, If real danger threat fair Freedom's reign, If hireling P**rs, in prostitution bold, Sell her as cheaply as themselves they fold ; Or they, who honour'd by the People's choice, 95 Against that people lift their rebel voice, And bafely crouching for their paltry pay, Vote the best birthright of her sons away, Permit a nation's in-born wealth to fly In mean, unkingly prodigality ;

100 Nor, e'er they give, ask how the sums were spent, So quickly squander'd, tho' so lately lent-If this they dare, the thunder of bis song, Rolling in deep-ton'd energy along, Shall strike, with Truth's dead bolt, each miscreant's name,

105 Who, dead to duty, senseless e'en to fhame, Betray'd his country. Yes, ye faithless crew, His muse's vengeance shall your crimes pursue, Stretch you on Satire's rack, and bid you lie Fit garbage for the hell-hound, Infamy,

ODE

ODE TO MR. PINCHBECK, UPON HIS NEWLY IN.

VENTED PATENT CANDLE•SNUFFERS. BY MAL. COLM M'GREGOR, ESQ; AUTHOR OF THE HEROIC EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AND THE HEROIC POSTSCRIPT. *

Quoufque ergo frustrà pascemus ignigenum iftum ?

Apuleii Met. Lib. 76 Why should a Patent be granted to this Candle-Snuffer in vain ?

I.

ILLUSTRIOUS Pinchbeck! condescend,
Thou well-belov'd, and best King's-Friend,

These lyric lines to view ;
O! may they prompt thee, ere too late,
To snuff the candle of the state,

That burns a little blue.

II. It

ADVERTISE MEN T. Ever fince my first publication, the curiosity, not to say anxiety, of the world concerning my name, has been so great, that it has trequently given me pain to conceal what the world will now see it was not possible in my power to discover.

In short, I had no name, till the royal favour lately restored my very antient and honourable clan to its pristine title and honours. I was therefore in the same deplorable case with a certain nameless lady, whom I have long had the honour to call my neighbour, and who, I sincerely hope, will soon, oy the same favour, be restored to

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IV.

Come then, ingenious artist, come
And put thy finger and thy thumb

Into each polish'd handle ;
On thee alone our hopes depend,
Thy King's, and eke thy Country's friend,

To trim Old England's candle.

V.

But first we pray, for its relief,
Pluck from its wick each Tory thief,

It elfe must quickly rue it ;
* While N- and M-sputter there,
Thou'lt ne'er prevent, with all thy care,

The melting of the fuet.

VI.

There's Twitcher too, that old he-witch,
Sticks in its bole as black as pitch,

* These initials, like those in the Barns of Marriage publishcd betweca N. and M, may be fill’d up at the reader's plea. sure.

Vide Common Prayer Book.

And

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