And then fail back, amid the cannon's roar,--
As fafe, as fage, as when he left the shore.

Such is thy pow'r, O Goddess of the song,
Come then and guide my careless pen along; 50*
Yet keep it in the bounds of sense and verse,
Nor, like Mac-Homer, make me gabble Erfe.
No, let the flow of these spontaneous rhymes
So truly touch the temper of the times,

That he who runs may read; while well he knows

55.

I write in metre, what he thinks in profe;
So fhall my fong, undifciplin'd by art,
Find a fure patron in each English heart.
If this it's fate, let all the frippery things »
Be-plac'd,be-penfion'd, and be-ftarr'd byKings,60
Frown on the page, and with fastidious eye,
Like old young Fannius, call it blafphemy..

Verfe 52. Nor like Mac Homer.) See, if the reader thinks it worth while, a late tranflation of the Iliad. Verfe 62. Like old young Fannius.) The noble perfonage here alluded to, being asked to read the Heroic Epiftle, faid, "No, it was as bad as blasphemy."

Ibid. Fannius.) Before I fent the MS to the prefs, I discovered, that an accidental blot had made all but the first fyllable of this name illegible. I was doubtful,' therefore, whether to print it Fannius or Fannia. After much deliberation, I thought it beft to use the mafculine termination. If I have done wrong, I ask pardon, not only of the Author, but the Lady:

The Editor.

Let

Let these prefer a levee's harmless talk,
Be afk'd how often, and how far they walk,
Proud of a fingle word, nor hope for more, 65
Tho' Jenkinson is bleft with many a score;
For other ears my honeft number found,

With other praise those numbers shall be crown'd,
Praise that shall spread, no pow'r can make it less,
While Britain boafts the bulwark of her prefs. 70
Yes, fons of freedom! yes, to whom I pay,
Warm from the heart, this tributary lay;
That lay fhall live, tho' Court and Grub-street
figh,

Your young Marcellus was not born to die.
The Muse shall nurfe him up to man's eftate, 75
And break the black afperity of fate—
Admit 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 philofophic Gods,
The Jove-like majefty of Pringle nods,
If e'er he chance to wake on Newton's chair, 85
He wonders how the devil he came there."

Verfe 76. And break the black afperity of fate.)
"Si qua fata afpera rumpas,

Tu Marcellus eris."

VIRG.

What

Whate'er his fame or fate, on this depend He is, and means to be his country's friend. 'Tis but to try his ftrength that now he sports With Chinese gardens, and withChinese courts :90 But if that country claim a graver ftrain, If real danger threat fair Freedom's reign, If hireling P**rs, in proftitution 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 fons away, Permit a nation's in-born wealth to fly In mean, unkingly prodigality;

100

Nor, e'er they give, ask how the fums were spent,
So quickly fquander'd, tho' fo lately lent-

If this they dare, the thunder of his fong,
Rolling in deep-ton'd energy along,

Shall ftrike, with Truth's dead bolt, each mif

creant's name,

Who, dead to duty, fenfelefs e'en to shame,

105

Betray'd his country. Yes, ye faithlefs crew, His Mufe's vengeance fhall your crimes purfue, Stretch you on fatire's rack, and bid you lie Fit garbage for the hell-hound, Infamy.

ODE

ODE YO MR. PINCHBECK, UPON HIS NEWLY-INVENTED PATENT CANDLE-SNUFFERS. BY MALCOLM M'GREGOR, ESQ; AUTHOR OF THE HEROIC EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AND THE HEROIC POSTSCRIPT .

Quoufque ergo fruftrà pafcemus ignigenum iftum ?

Apuleii Met. Lib. 7. Why fhould a Patent be granted to this Candle-Snuffer in vain ?

I.

ILLUSTRIOUS PINCHBECK! condefcend,
Thou well-belov'd, and best King's-Friend,
These lyric lines to view;

O! may they prompt thee, e'er too late,
To fnuff the candle of the state,

That burns a little blue.

It

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

As white as wax we faw it shine

Thro' two whole lengths of BRUNSWICK's line,Till B- firft dar'd to smut 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 fhallow.

foon, by the fame favour, be reftored to that title, which, upon my honour, 1 believe, fhe 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.