II. It once had got a ftately wick, As white as wax wè faw it fhine Thro' two whole lengths of BRUNSWICK's line III. Since then-but wherefore tell the tale ? Enough, that now it burneth pale, And forely waftes its tallow: Nay, if thy poet rightly weens, (Tho' little skill'd in ways and means) Its Save all is but shallow. that title, which, upon my honour, I believe, the has erroneously, and not intentionally, forfeited. I have only to add, that now, when the public is in poffeffion of my real name, it will not, I hope, fuffer any national prejudice to prevent it from receiving this my first lyrical attempt with its former candour. But I must needs fay, that if this Ode does not fell as well as Mr. CUMBERLAND'S, I fhall be apt to impute it, not to any inferiority of lyrical ordonance, but merely to its having been written by a Scotchman. Knightsbridge, May 6th, 1776. IV. Come IV. Come then, ingenious artist, come Into each polifh'd handle ; On thee alone our hopes depend, Thy King's, and eke thy Country's friend, V. But first we pray, for its relief, Pluck from its wick each Tory thief, While N- and M-sputter there, VI. There's Twitcher too, that old he-witch, * These initials, like thofe in the Barns of Marriage publishcd between N, and M. may be fill'd up at the reader's plea fure. Vide Common Prayer Book. † And And makes a filthy pother; When curs'd with such a sorry fiend, And lighted too at either end, 'Twill foon be in a fmother, VII. I fear me much, in fuch a plight, Which pious--ordains to blaze, VIII. § His arms, thou hallow'd image! blefs, And furely thou canst do no less, He is thy Faith's Defender; Thou ow'ft thy place to him alone, As other Jacobites have done, And not to the Pretender. IX. Haste then, and quafh the hot turmoil. Our ingenious Inventor's Snuffers are peculiarly calculated to remedy this evil, to which indeed all candles are more or less fubject. See the Patentee's Advertisement. It is humbly presumed, that the claffical reader will here perceive a boldness of transition only to be equalled by PINDAR, and perhaps by HORACE in fome of his fublimer Odes. And And frights the mother-nation: Know, Lady! if its rage you stop, Pinchbeck shall send you, from his shop, A most superb oblation. X. His patent-fnuffers, in a dish Of burnifh'd gold; if more you wish, Their brawny stumps, and for thy fake, XI. To form the mafs thy zeal Shall furnish that well-temper'd steel, Thou didst at Minden brandish; Nor yet shall G's reverend Dean, Counting its worth, refuse, I ween, His ponderous leaden ftandish. XII. Poor Doctor Johnson, I'm afraid, His ftyle's cafe-harden'd graces! M'Pherson, without fhame, or fear, Sir John Dalrymple, and Shebbeare Shall melt their brazen faces. XIII. And fure, this mixt metallic stuff, 'Twill weigh fome thousand stone? XIV. "Leave that to me," our Lady cries, "Howe'er gigantic be its fize, "I have a scheme in petto: "I'll fly with it from shore to shore, "Safe as my footy fifter bore "Her cottage to Loretto. XV. "Swift to the Congrefs with my freight "Soufe |