II.

It once had got a ftately wick,
When in its patent candlestick
The Revolution put it::

As white as wax wè faw it fhine

Thro' two whole lengths of BRUNSWICK's line
Till B-firft dar'd to fmut it.

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
And put thy finger and thy thumb

Into each polifh'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 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,
Those tapers blest would lose their light,
Canadian fanes that deck;

Which pious--ordains to blaze,
And gild with their establish'd rays,
Our Lady of Quebec.

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.
That flames in Boston's angry foil,

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,
His Cyclops fhall beftir

Their brawny stumps, and for thy fake,
Of Pinchbeck's own mixt-metal make
A huge Extinguifher.

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,
Can give but metaphoric aid;

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,
Will yield materials large enough
To mold the mighty cone;
But how transport it, when 'tis caft
Acroís the deep Atlantic vast,

'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
"I'll speed, and on their heads its weight

"Soufe