40

Would make him soon against his greatness sin,
Desert his sofa, mount his palanquin,
And post where'er the goddess led the way,
Perchance to proud Spithead's imperial bay;
There should he see, as other folks have seen,
That ships have anchors, and that seas are green;
Should own the tackling trim, the streamers fine;
With Sandwich prattle, and with Bradshaw dine;
And then sail back, amid the cannon's roar,
As safe, as sage, 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 Erse.

Verse 37. That solemn vein of irony.] "A fine vein of solemn irony runs through this piece." See Monthly Review, under the article of the Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers.

Verse 43. There should he see.] A certain naval event happened just about two calendar months after the publication of the Heroic Epistle. It was impossible, considering the necessary preparations, it could have been sooner. Facts are stubborn things.

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
I write in metre, what he thinks in prose. 56
So shall my song, undisciplin'd by art,

Find a sure patron in each English heart.
If this its fate, let all the frippery things
Be-plac'd, be-pension'd, and be-starr'd by Kings,
Frown on the page, and, with fastidious eye,
Like old young Fannius, call it blasphemy. 62
Let these prefer a levee's harmless talk ;
Be ask'd how often, and how far they walk;

Verse 52. Nor like Mac-Homer.] See, if the reader thinks it worth while, a late translation of the Iliad.

Verse 62. Like old young Fannius.] The noble personage here alluded to, being asked to read the Heroic Epistle, said, "No, it was as bad as blasphemy."

Ibid. Fannius.] Before I sent the manuscript to the press, I discovered that an accidental blot had made all but the first syllable of this name illegible. I was doubtful, therefore, whether to print it Fannius or Fannia. After much deliberation, I thought it best to use the masculine termination. If I have done wrong, I ask pardon, not only of the Author, but the Lady. THE EDITOR

Proud of a single word, nor hope for more,

65

Though Jenkinson is blest with many a score:
For other ears my honest numbers sound,
With other praise those numbers shall be crown'd,
Praise that shall spread, no pow'r can make it less,
While Britain boasts the bulwark of her press. 70
Yes, sons of Freedom! yes, to whom I pay,
Warm from the heart, this tributary lay;

That lay shall live, tho'Court and Grub-street sigh,
Your young Marcellus was not born to die.

The Muse shall nurse him up to man's estate, 75
And break the black asperity of fate.

Admit him then your candidate for fame,
Pleas'd if in your Review he read his name,
Though 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-

Verse 76. And break the black asperity of fate.]
"Si qua fata aspera rumpas,

Tu Marcellus eris."

VIRG.

So when o'er Crane-Court's philosophic Gods

The Jove-like majesty of Pringle nods,

If e'er he chance to wake on Newton's chair, 85 He "wonders how the devil he got there."

Whate'er his fame or fate, on this depend→→
He is, and means to be, his country's friend.
"Tis but to try his strength that now he sports
With Chinese gardens, and with Chinese courts: 90
But if that country claim a graver strain,
If real danger threat fair Freedom's reign;
If hireling P**rs, in prostitution bold,

Sell her as cheaply as themselves they sold;
Or they, who honour'd by the People's choice, 95
Against that People lift their rebel voice,
And basely crouching for their paltry pay,
Vote the best birthright of her sons away,
Permit a nation's in-born wealth to fly

In mean, unkingly prodigality;

100

Nor, ere they give, ask how the sums were spent, So quickly squander'd tho' so lately lent

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

Shall strike, with Truth's dead bolt, each mis

creant's name,

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

105

Betray'd his country. Yes, ye faithless crew,
His Muse's vengeance shall your crimes pursue,
Stretch you on Satire's rack, and bid you lie
Fit garbage for the hell-hound Infamy!