But to filence his clack, and to hide my disgrace,
I'll give cornet P- a vice-treasurer's place..

No longer a cornet, no longer a slave,
No longer the terror and scourge of a knave;
He yields to C-n, at B-y winks,
Now a patriot he rose, now a placeman he finks.

In the van of dame Fortune behold him advance, With his place for a target, his tongue for a lance ; But depriv'd of his place, ambition was croft, And the cornet's gay hours in a moment were loft.

Now behold him a bellowing patriot again,
Like Demofthenes, stemming the torrent in vain.
See his eyes how they roll! hark his diction how strong!
Gods ! how' mellow his voice 1 his oration how long!

Thus oppos’d and oppofing, the same tale he told, “ As he ne'er had been bought, fo he ne'er would be

“ fold ;" That his country (fine words!) was far dearer than

life! Than the whole race of Glles, than E- his.


How stubborn the trials which patriots endure ! Yet to conquer their whims, you must gild well the



For we all know 'tis senseless, whate'er they may mut


To quarrel, like fools, with their bread and their


To cut short my tale, and to close the last scene, Like a storm when 'tis hush'd, see the patriot serene ; In a twinkling behold a bright coronet rise, How it ties up his tongue ! how it dazzles his eyes !

With the hoard of mad Pynfent, a penfion, a place, With a peerage, the badge of his lordship's disgrace ; With a load of gold boxes, from boroughs and cities, With his bluft'ring speeches, and half-written ditties.

May he spend, yet unpity'd, the rest of his days, Unambitious of fway, undeserving of praise ; Unhuzza'd by a mob, unendear'd to his friends, Ever rack'd by the gout, ever tortur’d by fiends!

Ye chronicle wits, minifterially wise, Who to-morrow revere, what to-day ye despise ; Be my sentence confirm'd-Since the die is now caft, “ That a coroner damns ev'ry patriot at last,”




TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY *. Having heard that your doggrel's in mighty re

nown, (For a great many people can read in this town) And not without some little cause to expect Such flatt'ry, as goes to one's heart to reject : I have dipp'd in the standish, intending to try My right-hand at verse-tho' the Muse is but shy. You have heard of the wonderful works of one Pitt, Who fo oft in Dom.com. has brought forth a good


Lord ! Sir, there was hardly a man of them all,
If he wrestled with Will, but was sure of a fall.
Since the days of Sir Richard †, renowned in song,
No mortal has e'er been so loud or so long.
With large words and Latin, in patriot oration,
He led by the nose many heads of this nation ;
And, t'enable his fpirits and purse to hold out,
He receiv'd a fine snuff-box at ev'ry good bout;
The lid and the rims were all lacquer’d with gold,
And might, if they are not already, be sold ;
Mr. deputy Hodges, and arms of the city,
I dare say together look wonderful pretty.

* This epistle has been ascribed to Chr. Ansty, efq; + Blackmore. See the Dunciad,


The deputy deals in profound allegory,
And holds in his hand a good * key for history :
But as I was saying, or going to say,
This Pitt was a marvellous man in his day :
He made us, like so many bees in a hive,
Sweat and toil to pay taxes, that battle might thrive.
And really, dear friend, do but give him his due,
He made both the French and the Spaniards look

Our soldiers most ardently pray'd for their foes,
And then beat their brains out, as all the world knows.
Our gen’ral once chanc'd to be slaughter’d--and then
Pitt said he was forry-faid Beckford, Amen.
It would do your heart good, should you e'er conie

to town, To hear how their parliament speeches go down : There a party to swallow, a party to pour, So the gulpers stand gaping for sense by the hour. They're sure, honest souls ! he can ne'er be in jest, Who harangues till he's hoarse, and knocks oft on

his breast. In a winter or two, I suppose each oration, Well chew'd, will again be spew'd out on the nation : For the substance of matter continues the same, As Newton avers, tho it changes its name ; So for aught one can tell, e'en this letter of mine May make, turn’d to prose, a young senator shine. Vide speeches of common-council.


Three mighty great things are time, manner, and

place, To give both our laws and ourselves a good face ! But I ftop--for digreffions, when once they've the

rein, Throw us off, tug as hard as we can at the mane.

A man that is gouty, or has a lame leg, Elsewhere for self-int'reft, may set


to beg; Not fo at Saint Stephen's- when cripples come

there, All subscriptions requested, they solemnly swear, Are for poor old Britannia, whose back is quite bare. With one hand in flannel, and one on his fide, He would gently begin, like an infantine tide; And, as that by degrees all the bank overflows, So from whispers he soon came to brawling and blows: 'Those Germans may shift for themselves as they


As long as Great Britain has round her a dyke
To defend her from harm, let her rest in content ;
Not a man, not a shilling, shall from her be sent."
This doctrine was orthodox only a while,
For he has, Sir, a vast variation of style.
Of late we have heard him rebuking his brother,
For provoking pert boys to bepiss their own mother.


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