How lofty must Imagination soar,

To reach absurdities unknown before!

Thanks to thy pinions, Broughton, thou hast brought

From the moon's orb a novelty of thought.
Restrain, O Muse, thy unaccomplish'd lines,
Fling not thy saucy satire at Divines;

This single truth thy brother bards must tell—
Thou hast one excellence, of railing well.
But disputations are befitting those

Who settle Hebrew points, and scold in prose.

O Learning! where are all thy fancied joys,
Thy empty pleasures and thy solemn toys?
Proud of thy own importance, tho' we see
We've little reason to be proud of thee :
Thou putrid fœtus of a barren brain,
Thou offspring illegitimate of Pain.

Tell me, sententious mortals, tell me whence You claim the preference to men of sense? wants learning: see the letter'd throng

Banter his English in a Latin song.
Oxonian sages hesitate to speak

Their native language, but declaim in Greek.
If in his jests a discord should appear,
A dull lampoon is innocently clear.

Ye classic dunces, self-sufficient fools,

Is this the boasted justice of your schools?

*

* * has parts-parts which would set aside The labour'd acquisitions of your pride;

Uncultivated now his genius lies,

Instruction sees his latent beauties rise;
His gold is bullion, yours debas'd with brass,
Imprest with Folly's head to make it pass.

But *

* *

swears so loud, so indiscreet, His thunders rattle thro' the list'ning street. Ye rigid Christians, formally severe, Blind to his charities, his oaths you hear; Observe his virtues: Calumny must own A noble soul is in his actions shown: Tho' dark this bright original you paint, I'd rather be a * * *than a saint. Excuse me, Catcott, if from you I stray, The Muse will go where Merit leads the way: The owls of learning may admire the night, But * *shines with Reason's glowing light.

Still admonition presses to my pen,

The infant muse would give advice to men.
But what avails it, since the man I blame
Owns no superior in the paths of fame?

In springs, in mountains, stratas, mines, and rocks,
Catcott is every notion orthodox.

If to think otherwise you claim pretence,
You 're a detested heretic in sense.1

But oh! how lofty your ideas roar,

In showing wond'ring cits the fossile store!

1 Renounce is written over the first two words of this line: which is the true meaning is uncertain, both being in his own handwriting, and uncancelled.-SOUTHEY'S Edition.

The ladies are quite ravish'd, as he tells
The short adventures of the pretty shells;
Miss Biddy sickens to indulge her touch,
Madam more prudent thinks 'twould seem too much:
The doors fly open, instantly he draws
The sparry load, and-wonders of applause;
The full-dress'd lady sees with envying eye
The sparkle of her diamond pendants die;
Sage Natural Philosophers adore

The fossil whimseys of the numerous store.
But see! the purple stream begins to play,
To show how fountains climb the hilly way:
Hark what a murmur echoes through the throng-
Gods! that the pretty trifle should be wrong!
Experience in the voice of Reason tells
Above its surface water never swells.
Where is the priestly soul of Catcott now?
See what a triumph sits upon his brow!

And can the poor applause of things like these,
Whose souls and sentiments are all disease,
Raise little triumphs in a man like you,
Catcott, the foremost of the judging few?
So at Llewellin's your great brother sits,
The laughter of his tributary wits,
Ruling the noisy multitude with ease,—
Empties his pint, and sputters his decrees.

Dec. 20, 1769.

MR. CATCOTT will be pleased to observe that I admire many things in his learned Remarks. This

poem is an innocent effort of poetical vengeance, as Mr. Catcott has done me the honour to criticize my trifles. I have taken great poetical liberties, and what I dislike in verse possibly deserves my approbation in the plain prose of Truth.-The many admirers of Mr. Catcott may, on perusal of this, rank me as an enemy; but I am indifferent in all things-I value neither the praise nor the censure of the multitude.

SENTIMENT. 1769.

SINCE We can die but once, what matters it,
If rope or garter, poison, pistol, sword,
Slow-wasting sickness, or the sudden burst
Of valve arterial in the noble parts,
Curtail the miseries of human life?

Tho' varied is the cause, the effect's the same;
All to one common dissolution tends.1

1 Though it may not always be the effect of infidel principles, to plunge the person who becomes unfortunately infected with them into an immediate course of flagrant and shameless depravity, they seldom fail to unhinge the mind, and render it the sport of some passion unfriendly to our happiness and prosperity. One of their first effects in Chatterton was to render the idea of suicide familiar, and to dispose him to think lightly of the most sacred deposit with which man is intrusted by his Creator. It has been supposed

THE DEFENCE.

Dec. 25, 1769.

No more, dear Smith, the hackneyed tale renew;
I own their censure, I approve it too.
For how can idiots, destitute of thought,
Conceive, or estimate, but as they're taught?
Say, can the satirizing pen of Shears,
Exalt his name, or mutilate his ears?
None but a Lawrence can adorn his lays,
Who in a quart of claret drinks his praise.
Taylor repeats what Catcott told before,
But lying Taylor is believed no more.
If in myself I think my notion just,
The Church and all her arguments are dust.

Religion's but Opinion's bastard son,

A perfect mystery, more than three in one.
'Tis fancy all, distempers of the mind;
As Education taught us, we're inclined.
Happy the man, whose reason bids him see
Mankind are by the state of nature free;

that his violent death in London was the sudden and almost instant effect of extreme poverty and disappointment. It appears, however, that long before he left Bristol he had repeatedly intimated his intention of putting an end to his existence.-DR. GREGORY.