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III.

My trembling muse can ne'er aspire
To tune an ode with Whitehead's fire,

Or fing these glorious days :
Besides, your ears, my Lord, are nice,
They shrink from flattery in a trice,

And scarce bear modeft praise.

IV.

Else should I hail this lucky hour,
Lo, SAYRE committed to the Tower !

Britain thall Pæans fing:
A meal-tub plot young Oates shall prove,
Since Kate Macaulay bafely strove

To ravish George our King * !

V.

Can I describe the Atlantick fea,
Green as a leek with India's tea,

Dire cause of civil rage?

• Mr. Richardson, (the witness against Sayre, and therefore the Titus Oates of the Court) will produce undoubred evidence to prove this extraordinary falt.- The Lord Mayor elect, Mr. Sawbridge, encouraged his sister to this atrocious attempt, unparalle!ed even in her own hiftory.----Mr. Wilkes is also strongly surpected.

The

The dust and sweat on Putnam's brown
Who in the battle equals Howe,

But kneels to Madam Gage ?

VI.

Enough for me, if I rehearse
Some Whiggith maxim in my verse,

And prove my patriot zeal :
I've no fond wish to lose an ear:
(Or gain a pension, like Shebbeare,)

- Though the King's touch might heal.

OCTOBER 27, 1775.

* To prevent malignant constructions, the author thinks him. self bound in honour to declare, that by Madam Gage he means Mrs. Gage, and not the General. At the same time he candidly owns a compliment was designed to the galant old wood-cutter, for his fingular politeness to that lady,

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D

E;

ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF DARTMOUTH,

BY THE SAME

Nondum fubadla firre jugum valet

Cervice ; nondum munia comparis
Æquare, nec tauri ruentis
In venerem tolerare pondus.

Hor, Ode V. Lib. II.

I.
My Lord, your filley's hardly broke,
She kicks and winces at the yoke,

Nor will submit to draw :
With too much spirit for a hack,
Though King, Lords, Commons, gall her back,

And bridle her with law.

II.

By youth and freedom fir'd she roves,
The boundless wood and field she loves,

Nor heeds the herdsman's whistle:
With wanton colts she wildly strays,
But drives your braying ass to graze

: On Nova Scotia's thistle,

III. Don't

III.

Don't rob the orchard, (though you've power)
The Boston apples yet are four,

And apt to purge and gripe :
The loyal Yankies, for your use,
Would give and grant the genial juice,

You'd steal the fruit unripe.

IV.

The faints, alas ! have waxen strong;
In vain your fasts and godly song,

To quell the rebel rout!
Within his lines skulks valiant Gage,
Like Yorick's starling in the cage,

He cries, “ I can't get out.”

Why will the Council always blunder?
Dull Leadenhall you still may plunder,

You ne'er can want pretensions ;
Seapoys and Nabobs can't refilt,
A vote will pay the Civil Lift,

And Ireland furnish penfions.

VI.

But stubborn Yankies let alone,
They hurl defiance at the throne,

And all your schemes unsettle ;

To

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To mark your Act with more disgrace,
They Aing their tea-pots in your face,

And scald you with the kettle,

CONGR-ATULATORY ODE,

ADDRESSED TO LORD GEORGE GERMAIN, ON. HIS

BEING APPOINTED SECRETARY OF STATE FOR
THE COLONIES, IN THE ROOM OF LORD DART:-
MOUTH.

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My Lord, I hail your spotless fame ;
A civil post, and change of name,

Have-wash'd away all fin :
The German flough no more prevails,
For ferpent-like, you've cast your scales, -

And shine in a new-fkin..

Degraded from your martial station,
You still surprize and please the nation, :

Your zeal they yet applaud :
Sentenc'd no more to blaze in arms,
Like an old trull with tarnidhi'd charins

You turn a useful bawd..

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