AN EPISTLE

TO DR. SHEBBEARE:

TO WHICH IS ADDED AN ODE TO SIR FLETCHER

NORTON, IN IMITATION OF HORACE, ODE VIII. BOOK IV.

BY MALCOLM MACGREGGOR, OF KNIGHTSAUTHOR OF THE

ERIDGE, ESQ.

HEROIC

EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, &c.*

For a thousand tongues! and every tongue Like Johnson's, arm'd with words of fix feet

long,

ADVERTISEMENT.

In

Though I look upon this Poem, in point of elevation of diction and fublimity of fentiment, to be as highly heroical, as my Epiftle to Sir William Chambers, yet I have not thought proper to add that epithet to it on the title-page. I am willing to wish that first production of my muse may preferve the diftinction which it now poffeffes, of being called The Heroic Epiftle, par excellence. Befides this confideration, the different ranks of the two perfons, to whom these two works are addreffed, require a difference to be made in this matter; and it would be unpardonable in me not to difcriminate between a Comptroller of his Majesty's Works, and the Hackney Scribbler of a Newfpaper; between a Placeman and a Pensioner, a Knight of the Polar Star, and a broken Apothecary.

Ter. 2, Words of fix feet long.) Sefquipedalia verba. HOR.

}

In multitudinous vociferation
To panegyricize this glorious nation,
Whofe liberty refults from her taxation.
O, for that paffive, penfionary fpirit,
That by its proftitution proves its merit!
That refts on RIGHT DIVINE, all regal claims,
And gives to George, whate'er it gave to James:
Then should my Tory numbers, old Sheb-

Tickle the tatter'd fragment of thy ear!
Then all that once was virtuous, wife, or brave,
That quell'd a tyrant, that abhorr❜d a slave,
Then Sydney's, Ruffel's patriot fame should fall,
Befmear'd with mire, like black Dalrymple's
gall,

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Then, like thy profe, fhould my felonious verfe Tear each immortal plume from Naffau's hearse, That modern monarchs, in that plumage gay, Might ftare and strut, the peacocks of a day.

Ver. 11. Tickle the tatter'd fragment.) Churchill, allud. ing to this capital anecdote in our Doctor's life, fays, in his poem called The Author,

The whole intent

Of that parade, was fame, not punishment. Intimating that his ears received no detriment in the pillorys My line intimates, that they did. However, if my intimation be falfe, it is eafily refuted: the Doctor has only to expofe his ears again to the public, and the real fact will be Aagrant.

But I, like Anfty, feel myself unfit

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To run, with hollow speed, two heats of wit.
He, at first starting, won both fame and money,
The betts ran high on Bladud's Cicerone;
Since diftanc'd quite, like a gall'd jade he winces,
And lafhes unknown priests, and praifes well-
known princes.

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So I, when first I tun'd th' heroic lay,
Gain'd Pownall's praise, as well as Almon's pay.
In me the nation plac'd its tuneful hope,
Its fecond Churchill, or at least its Pope :

Proudly

Ver. 23. Bladud's Ciceronè.) Anglice, Bath Guide. Ver. 25. Lashes unknown priefts.) Without a note posterity will never understand this line. Two or three years ago this gentleman found himself libelled in a newspaper; and, on suspecting a certain clergyman to be the author, he wrote a firft canto of a poem, called The Priest Dissected, in which he prepared all chirurgical matters previous to the operation. In the mean time the parfon proved an alibi, and faved his bacon: To this firft and unique canto the author prefixed a fomething in which he exculpated himself from being the author of the Heroic Epiftle, which it seems had been laid to his charge during the time the clan of Macgreggors continued without a name, and which, as the world well knows, was the only reason which prevented me from claiming the merit of that production. It is to this fomething, that the latter part of the line alludes. For in it he had told the public, that his Majesty had ten children, which it knew very well before. Hence the epithet well-known.

Proudly I prick'd along, Sir William's squire, 30 Bade kings recite my ftrains and queens admire; Chafte maids of honour prais'd my ftout endeavour, Sir Thomas fwore "The fellow was damn'd clever.”

But popularity, alas! has wings,

And flits as foon from poets as from kings. 35
My pompous Poftfcript found itself difdain'd
As much as Milton's Paradife regain'd-

40

And when I dar'd the Patent Snuffers handle,
To trim, with Pinchy's aid, Old England's candle,
The lyric mufe, fo lame was her condition,
Could hardly hop beyond a third edition.
Yes, 'tis a general truth, and strange as true,
(Kenrick fhall prove it in his next Review)
That no one bard, in these degenerate days,
Can write two works deferving equal praifé. 45.
Whether the matter of which minds are made

Be grown of late mephitic and decay'd,

Or wants phlogifton, I forbear to fay,

The problem's more in Doctor Priestley's way.
He knows of spirit the material whole,
For Priestley has the cure of Sh-lb-e's foul,

50

Enough

Ver. 33. Sir Thomas.) The Petronius of the present age needs not the addition of a firname to make the world certain who is meant by this appellative.

Ver. 51. The cure of Sh-lb---e's foul.) It is not here infinuated, that the soul in question wants curing. The word

C 3

Enough of fouls, unless we waste a line, Shebbeare! to pay a compliment to thine: Which forg'd, of old, of ftrong Hibernian brass, Shines thro' the Paris plaister of thy face, 55 And bronzes it, fecure from fhame, or sense, To the flat glare of finish'd impudence. Wretch that from Slander's filth art ever glean

ing,

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Spite without fpirit, malice without meaning;
The fame abufive, bafe, abandon'd thing,
When pilloried, or penfion'd by a King.
Old as thou art, methinks, 'twere fage advice,
That N--th fhould call thee off from hunting Price.
Some younger blood-hound of his bawling pack
Might forer gall his prefbyterian back.

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Thy toothlefs jaws fhould free thee from the fight; Thou canft but mumble, when thou mean'ft to bite.

Say, then, to give a requiem to thy toils,
What if my muse array'd her in thy spoils?
And took the field for thee, thro' pure good-na-

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ture; Courts prais'd by thee, are curs'd beyond her fatire.