III. My trembling mufe can ne'er afpire Befides, your ears, my Lord, are nice, IV. Elfe fhould I hail this lucky hour, A meal-tub plot young Oates fhall prove, To ravish George our King * ! V. Can I defcribe the Atlantick fea, • Mr. Richardson, (the witness against Sayre, and therefore the Titus Oates of the Court) will produce undoubted evidence to prove this extraordinary fact.-The Lord Mayor elect, Mr. Sawbridge, encouraged his fifter to this atrocious attempt, unparalle!ed even in her own hiftory.Mr. Wilkes is alfo ftrongly fufpected. The The duft and fweat on Putnam's brow, But kneels to Madam Gage? VI. Enough for me, if I rehearse I've no fond wish to lose an ear (Or gain a penfion, like Shebbeare,). Though the King's touch might heal. OCTOBER 27, 1775. To prevent malignant conftructions, the author thinks himfelf bound in honour to declare, that by Madam Gage he means Mrs. Gage, and not the General. At the fame time he candidly owns a compliment was defigned to the gallant old wood-cutter, for his fingular politenefe to that lady. ODE My Lord, your filley's hardly broke, She kicks and winces at the yoke, 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 fhe roves, Nor heeds the herdfman's whistle: 1 III. Don't III. Don't rob the orchard, (though you've power,) And apt to purge and gripe: The loyal Yankies, for your use, Would give and grant the genial juice, IV. The faints, alas! have waxen strong; To quell the rebel rout! Within his lines fkulks valiant Gage, He cries, "I can't get out." V. Why will the Council always blunder? Seapoys and Nabobs can't refift, And Ireland furnish penfions. VI. But ftubborn Yankies let alone, And all your schemes unsettle; To To mark your ACT with more difgrace, CONGRATULATORY ODE, ADDRESSED TO LORD GEORGE GERMAIN, ON HIS BEING APPOINTED SECRETARY OF STATE FOR BY THE SAME. My Lord, I hail your fpotlefs fame; The German flough no more prevails, Degraded from your martial station, : Sentenc'd no more to blaze in arms, Like an old trull with tarnish'd charms You turn a useful bawd.. Bred |