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Other documents randomly have
different content
with greater marks of displeasure in his face than we ever remember
to have seen there.
The Duke now gave Radical Reform (three times three, followed by
continued shouts of applause).
A Counsellor Jackson attempted to sing “Paddy Whack,” but was
soon silenced, on account of his stupid perversion of the words, and
his bad voice.
Citizen Gale Jones then rose and said—that he was no Orator,
though he got his living by oratory, being Chairman of a Debating
Society. He had also written a book—which he was told had some
merit. He did not rise to recommend it, but he thought it right to
hint, that those who wished for Constitutional information might be
supplied with it at the Bar; the price was trifling—Eighteen-pence
was nothing to the majority of the Company;—to himself, indeed—
(here Mr. Horne Tooke called out Order! Order! with some marks of
impatience)—He begged pardon, he would say no more—there was
no one whom he valued like Mr. Tooke, there was no one indeed to
whom he was under such obligations; the very shoes he had on
were charged by Citizen Hardy to Mr. Tooke’s account—Mr. Tooke was
also a great friend to a Radical Reform—he loved a Radical Reform
himself; the Poor must always love Radical Reforms—he should
therefore beg leave to propose the health of Mr. John Horne Tooke.—
(Three times three.)
Mr. Tooke rose, and spoke nearly as follows: “You all know,
Citizens, in what detestation I once held the Man whose Birth-day
we are now met to commemorate. You cannot yet have forgot the
‘Two Pair of Portraits’ I formerly published, nor the glaring light in
which I hung up him and his father to the execration of an indignant
posterity. You must also be apprized of the charges of Corruption,
Insurrection, and Murder (much hissing and applause, the latter
predominant) which I brought against him, justly, as I must still
think, at a former Election for Westminster. How happens it then,
you will say, that I now come forward to do him honour? I will tell
you. At the last Election for Westminster, I had still my suspicions of
his sincerity; he appeared too anxious to preserve measures with the
spruce and powdered Aristocrats who usually attended him to the
Hustings; nor was it till the fourth or fifth day before the close of the
Poll, that those suspicions were removed. Aware that he was losing
ground among the People, he determined to make one great effort
to re-establish his popularity. He therefore came forward, and
addressed the free and independent Electors in front of the
Hustings, in a Speech, of which the remembrance yet warms my
heart. From that moment, I marked him as my own! Retractation
was impossible; and the panegyric he lately delivered on a Radical
Reform, in a House which I despise too much to name, was the
natural and inevitable consequence of that day’s declaration. You
may remember, that when I addressed my Friends, I only said,
‘Gentlemen, Mr. Fox has spoken my sentiments; he has even gone
beyond them—but I thank him’.—What I then said I now repeat,
with regard to his Speech on a late occasion—‘I am most perfectly
satisfied with his conduct; nor do I wish to advance one step in the cause
[111]
of reform, beyond what Mr. Fox has pledged himself to go!!!’”

Mr. Tooke then begged leave to propose Mr. Fox’s health for the
second time, and sat down amidst a thunder of applause.[112]
The Duke of Norfolk observed to the Company, that as they had
drunk the health of a Man dear to the People, he would now call
upon them to drink the health of their Sovereign[113]—here a hiccup
interrupted his Grace, and a most violent cry of “No Sovereign! no
Sovereign!” resounded through the room, and continued for several
minutes, notwithstanding the earnest entreaties of the Duke to be
heard. Order was, however, restored at length, when his Grace
gently chid the Company for taking advantage of a slight infirmity of
nature, to impute a design to him which was wholly foreign from his
heart—(loud applause). He augured well, however, of their
patriotism, and would now afford them an opportunity of repairing
the injury they had done him, by giving the Toast as he intended
—“The Health of our Sovereign—the Majesty of the People”.[114]—(Loud
and incessant shouts of applause.)
A disgusting scene of uproar and confusion followed, which we
shall not attempt to detail. The Chairman sank under the table in a
state of stupefaction, and the rest of the Company, maddened alike
with noise and wine, committed a thousand outrages, till they were
literally turned into the streets by the Waiters. As many of them as
could speak were conducted home by the watchmen; others were
conveyed “in silent majesty” to the Round-house; and not a few of
them slept out the remainder of the night upon the steps of the
neighbouring houses. The Reporters of the Jacobin Papers were
sought out, and conveyed home by the pressmen, devils, &c., and
one poor youth, whom we afterwards found to be a Writer in the
Morning Chronicle (hired for the day by The True Briton)[115] had his
pockets picked of a clean white Handkerchief and a Notebook, after
being severely beaten for deserting his former Employers.
 No. XIV.

Feb. 12, 1798.

It has been our invariable custom to suppress such
of our correspondents’ favours as conveyed any
compliments to ourselves; and we have deviated
from it in the present instance, not so much out of
respect to the uncommon excellence of the Poem
before us, as because it agrees so intimately with the
general design of our paper—to expose the deformity
of the French Revolution, to counteract the
detestable arts of those who are seeking to introduce
it here, and above all, to invigorate the exertions of
our countrymen against every Foe, foreign and
domestic, by showing them the immense and
inexhaustible resources they yet possess in British
Courage and British Virtue!
 TO
THE AUTHOR OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN.
Foe to thy country’s foes! ’tis THINE to claim
From Britain’s genuine sons a British fame—
Too long French manners our fair isle disgraced;
Too long French fashions shamed our native taste.
Still prone to change, we half-resolved to try
The proffered charms of French fraternity.

Fair was her form, and Freedom’s honour’d name

Conceal’d the horrors of her secret shame:
She claim’d some kindred with that guardian pow’r,
Long worshipp’d here in Britain’s happier hour:
Virtue and Peace, she said, were in her train,
The long-lost blessings of Astræa’s reign—
But soon the vizor dropp’d—her haggard face
Betray’d the Fury lurking in the Grace—
The false attendants that behind her press’d,
In vain disguised, the latent guilt confess’d:
Peace dropt her snow-white robe, and shudd’ring show’d
Ambition’s mantle reeking fresh with blood;
Presumptuous Folly stood in Reason’s form,
Pleased with the power to ruin,—not reform;
Philosophy, proud phantom, undismay’d,
With cold regard the ghastly train survey’d;
Saw Persecution gnash her iron teeth,
While Atheists preach’d the eternal sleep of death;
Saw Anarchy the social chain unbind,
And Discord sour the blood of human kind;
Then talk’d of Nature’s Rights, and Equal Sway;
And saw her system safe—AND STALK’D AWAY!

Foil’d by our Arms, where’er in ARMS we met,

With ARTS LIKE THESE the foe assails us yet.
Hopeless the fort to storm, or to surprise,
More secret wiles his envious malice tries;
Diseas’d himself, spread wide his own despair,
Pollutes the fount, and taints the wholesome air.
 While many a Chief, to glory not unknown,
Alarms each hostile shore, and guards our own,
’Tis THINE, the latent treachery to proclaim;
An humbler warfare, but the cause the same.
In vain had Pompey crush’d the Pontic host,
And chas’d the pirate swarm from every coast;
The crew that leagu’d their country to o’erthrow;
The base confederates of a Gallic[116] foe;
Had not the Civic Consul’s watchful eye
Track’d through the windings of conspiracy,
Exposed, confounded, shamed, and forced away,
The “Jacobin Reformer[117] of his day”.

’Tis THINE a subtler mischief to pursue,

And drag a deeper, darker, plot to view;
Whate’er its form, still ready to engage,
Detect its malice, or resist its rage;
Whether it whispers low, or raves aloud,
In sneers profane, or blasphemies avow’d;[118]
Insults its King, reviles its Country’s cause,
And, ’scaped from Justice, braves the lenient Laws:
Whate’er the hand in desperate faction bold,
By native hate inspired, or foreign gold;
Traitors absolved, and libellers released,
The recreant Peer, or renegado Priest;[119]
The Sovereign-people’s cringing, crafty slave,
The dashing fool, and instigating knave,
Each claims thy care; nor think the labour vain—
Vermin have sunk the Ship that ruled the Main.

’Tis THINE, with Truth’s fair shield to ward the blow,

And turn the weapon back upon the foe:
To trace the skulking fraud, the candid cheat,
That can retract the falsehood, yet repeat;
To wake the listless, slumb’ring as they lie,
Lapt in th’ embrace of soft security;
 apt t e b ace o so t secu ty;
To rouse the cold, re-animate the brave,
And shew the cautious all they have to save.

Erect that standard Alfred first unfurl’d,

Britain’s just pride, the wonder of the world;
Whose staff is Freedom’s spear, whose blazon’d field
Beams with the Christian Cross, the Regal Shield;
That standard which the Patriot Barons bore,
Restored, from Runimede’s resounding shore;
Which since consign’d to William’s guardian hand,
Waved in new splendour o’er a grateful land;
Which oft in vain by force or fraud assail’d,
Has stood the shock of ages—and prevail’d.

Yes! the bright sun of Britain yet shall shine—

The clouds are earth-born, but his fire divine;
That temperate splendour, and that genial heat,
Shall still illume, and cherish Empire’s Seat;
While the red Meteor, whose portentous glare
Shot plagues infectious through the troubled air;
Admired, or fear’d no more, shall melt away,
Lost in the radiance of HIS BRIGHTER DAY!
 LINES.
Written under the Bust of Charles Fox at the Crown and Anchor.

I’ll not sell Uncle Noll, Charles Surface cries;—

I’ll not sell Charley Fox, John Bull replies:
Sell him, indeed! who’ll find me such another?—
Fox is above all price; so hold your pother.
Morning Post, Feb. 6.

To make our readers some amends for this

miserable doggrel, we will present them, in our turn,
with some lines written under a bust, NOT at the
Crown and Anchor, by an English traveller just
returned from Petersburgh. We believe they are
more just; we are certain they are more poetical.
 LINES.
Written by a Traveller at Czarco-zelo under the Bust of a certain Orator,
once placed between those of Demosthenes and Cicero.
 I.

The Grecian Orator of old,

With scorn rejected Philip’s laws,
Indignant spurn’d at foreign gold,
And triumph’d in his country’s cause.

II.

A foe to every wild extreme,

’Mid civil storms, the Roman Sage
Repress’d Ambition’s frantic scheme,
And check’d the madding people’s rage.

III.

Their country’s peace, and wealth and fame,

With patriot zeal their labours sought,
And Rome’s or Athens’ honoured name
Inspired and govern’d every thought.

IV.

Who now, in this presumptuous hour,

Aspires to share the Athenian’s praise?
—The advocate of foreign power,
The Æschines of later days.

V.

What chosen name to Tully’s join’d,

Is thus announced to distant climes?
—Behold, to lasting shame consign’d,
The Catiline of modern times![120]
 No. XV.

Feb. 19, 1798.

THE PROGRESS OF MAN.[121]

A Didactic Poem,

IN FORTY CANTOS, WITH NOTES CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY: CHIEFLY OF A

PHILOSOPHICAL TENDENCY.

DEDICATED TO R. P. KNIGHT, ESQ.

CANTO FIRST.

Contents.—The Subject proposed.—Doubts and

Waverings.—Queries not to be answered.—
Formation of the stupendous Whole.—
Cosmogony; or the Creation of the World:—the
Devil—Man—Various Classes of Being:—Animated
Beings—Birds—Fish—Beasts—the Influence of the
Sexual Appetite—on Tigers—on Whales—On
Crimpt Cod—on Perch—on Shrimps—on Oysters.
—Various Stations assigned to different Animals:—
Birds—Bears—Mackerel.—Bears remarkable for
their fur—Mackerel cried on a Sunday—Birds do
not graze—nor Fishes fly—nor Beasts live in the
Water.—Plants equally contented with their lot:—
Potatoes—Cabbage—Lettuce—Leeks—Cucumbers.
—Man only discontented—born a Savage; not
choosing to continue so, becomes polished—
resigns his Liberty—Priest-craft—King-craft—
Tyranny of Laws and Institutions.—Savage Life—
description thereof:—The Savage free—roaming
Woods—feeds on Hips and Haws—Animal Food—
first notion of it from seeing a Tiger tearing his
prey—wonders if it is good—resolves to try—
makes a Bow and Arrow—kills a Pig—resolves to
roast a part of it—lights a fire—Apostrophe to fires
—Spits and Jacks not yet invented.—Digression.—
Corinth—Sheffield.—Love, the most natural desire
after Food.—Savage Courtship.—Concubinage
recommended.—Satirical Reflections on Parents
and Children—Husbands and Wives—against
collateral Consanguinity.—Freedom the only
Morality, &c. &c. &c.
Whether some great, supreme o’er-ruling Power
Stretch’d forth its arm at Nature’s natal hour,
Composed this mighty whole with plastic skill,[122]
Wielding the jarring elements at will?
Or whether, sprung from Chaos’ mingling storm,
The mass of matter started into form? 5
Or Chance o’er earth’s green lap spontaneous fling
The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring?
Whether material substance unrefined,
Owns the strong impulse of instructive mind,
Which to one centre points diverging lines, 10
[123]
Confounds, refracts, invig’rates, and combines?
Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven,
By man to God, or God to man, were given?[124]
If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe?
Who rules above, or who reside below?[125] 15
Vain questions all—shall man presume to know?
On all these points, and points obscure as these,
Think they who will,—and think whate’er they please!

Let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue—

Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe; 20
Mark the dark rook, on pendent branches hung,
With anxious fondness feed her cawing young.—
Mark the fell leopard through the desert prowl,
Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl;—
How Lybian tigers’ chawdrons[126] love assails, 25
[127]
And warms, ’midst seas of ice, the melting whales;—
Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts,
Shrinks shrivell’d shrimps, but opens oysters’ hearts;—[128]
Then say, how all these things together tend
To one great truth, prime object, and good end? 30

First—to each living thing, whate’er its kind,

Some lot, some part, some station is assign’d.
The feather’d race with pinions skim the air—[129]
[130]
N t th k l d till l th b
 Not so the mackerel, and still less the bear;[130]
This roams the wood, carniv’rous for his prey![131] 35
That with soft roe pursues his watery way:[132]
This, slain by hunters, yields his shaggy hide;[133]
That, caught by fishers, is on Sundays cried.—[134]

But each contented with his humble sphere,

Moves unambitious through the circling year; 40
Nor e’er forgets the fortune of his race,
Nor pines to quit, or strives to change his place.
Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise,
Clap her broad wings, and soaring claim the skies?[135]
When did the owl, descending from her bow’r, 45
Crop, ’midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flow’r;
Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb,
In the salt wave,[136] and fish-like strive to swim?

The same with plants[137]—potatoes ’tatoes breed—[138]

Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed; 50
Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed;
Nor e’er did cooling cucumbers presume
To flow’r like myrtle, or like violets bloom.
—Man, only,—rash, refined, presumptuous man,
Starts from his rank, and mars creation’s plan. 55
Born the free heir of nature’s wide domain,
To art’s strict limits bounds his narrow’d reign;
Resigns his native rights for meaner things,
For faith and fetters—laws, and priests, and kings.
60
(To be continued.)
We are sorry to be obliged to break off here. The
remainder of this admirable and instructive Poem is
in the press, and will be continued the first
opportunity.
 THE EDITOR.

[The following is the commencement of Knight’s poem:—

Whether primordial motion sprang to life

From the wild war of elemental strife;
In central chains the mass inert confined,
And sublimated matter into mind:
Or, whether one great all-pervading soul
Moves in each part and animates the whole;
Unnumbered worlds to one great centre draws,
And governs all by pre-established laws:
Whether in fates’ eternal fetters bound,
Mechanic nature goes her endless round:
Or ever varying, acts but to fulfil
The sovereign mandates of Almighty will;—
Let learned folly seek, or foolish pride,
Rash in presumptuous ignorance, decide.—Ed.]

[Eminent as Richard Payne Knight was as a classical scholar and

archæologist, his poetical powers were not highly appreciated by his
literary contemporaries, as is amusingly shown in a letter from
Horace Walpole, dated 22nd March, 1796, to the Rev. W. Mason, in
which he declares how much he is “offended and disgusted by Mr.
Knight’s new, insolent, and self-conceited poem”. He winds up thus:
“I send you a parody on two lines of Mr. Knight, which will show you
that his poem is seen in its true light by a young man of allowed
parts, Mr. Canning, whom I never saw. The originals are the two first
lines at the top of page 5:”—

“Some fainter irritations seem to feel,

Which o’er its languid fibres gently steal”.—Knight.
 “Cools the crimp’d cod, to pond-perch pangs imparts,
Thrills the shelled shrimps, and opens oysters’ hearts.”—Canning.

It is evident from this that Canning had thought of parodying the

poem immediately after its publication, and that Walpole had seen a
specimen in manuscript, nearly two years before its publication in
the Anti-Jacobin, in which the two lines (28, 29) are thus altered:—

“Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts,

Shrinks shrivell’d shrimps, but opens oysters’ hearts”.

By an oversight, Peter Cunningham, in his edition of Walpole’s

Letters, attributes the latter’s attack to a previous production of
Knight’s, published in 1794, entitled The Landscape: a didactic Poem
in three Books, a work which had excited Walpole’s high indignation
by expressing opinions opposed to his own.—Ed.]
 No. XVI.

Feb. 26, 1798.

The specimen of the poem on the “Progress of
Man,” with which we favoured our Readers in our last
Number, has occasioned a variety of letters, which
we confess have not a little surprised us, from the
unfounded, and even contradictory charges they
contain. In one, we are accused of Malevolence, in
bringing back to notice a work that had been quietly
consigned to oblivion;—in another, of Plagiarism, in
copying its most beautiful passages;—in a third, of
Vanity, in striving to imitate what was in itself
inimitable, &c., &c. But why this alarm? has the
author of the “Progress of Civil Society” an exclusive
patent for fabricating Didactic poems? or can we not
write against Order and Government without
incurring the guilt of Imitation? We trust we were not
so ignorant of the nature of a didactic poem (so
called from didaskein, to teach, and poema, a poem;
because it teaches nothing, and is not poetical) even
before the “Progress of Civil Society” appeared, but
that we were capable of such an undertaking.
We shall only say further, that we do not intend to
proceed regularly with our Poem; but having the
remaining thirty-nine Cantos by us, shall content
ourselves with giving, from time to time, such
extracts as may happen to suit our purpose.
The following passage, which, as the reader will
see by turning to the Contents prefixed to the head
of the Poem, is part of the First Canto, contains so
happy a deduction of Man’s present state of
Depravity, from the first slips and failings of his
Original State, and inculcates so forcibly the
mischievous consequences of social or civilized, as
opposed to natural society, that no dread of imputed
imitation can prevent us from giving it to our
readers.
PROGRESS OF MAN.
Lo! the rude savage, free from civil strife,[139]
Keeps the smooth tenour of his guiltless life;
Restrain’d by none, save Nature’s lenient laws,
Quaffs the clear stream, and feeds on hips and haws.
Light to his daily sports behold him rise!
The bloodless banquet health and strength supplies. 65
[140]

Bloodless not long—one morn he haps to stray[141]

Through the lone wood—and close beside the way
Sees the gaunt tiger tear his trembling prey;
Beneath whose gory fangs a leveret bleeds,
Or pig—such pig as fertile China breeds.[142] 70

Struck with the sight, the wondering savage stands,

Rolls his broad eyes, and clasps his lifted hands!
Then restless roams—and loaths his wonted food;
Shuns the salubrious stream, and thirsts for blood.
75
[143]
By thought matured, and quicken’d by desire,
New arts, new arms, his wayward wants require.
From the tough yew a slender branch he tears,
With self-taught skill the twisted grass[144] prepares;
Th’ unfashioned bow, with labouring efforts bends
In circling form, and joins th’ unwilling ends. 80
Next some tall reed he seeks—with sharp-edg’d stone
Shapes the fell dart, and points with whiten’d bone.[145]

Then forth he fares. Around in careless play,

Kids, pigs, and lambkins unsuspecting stray;
With grim delight he views the sportive band, 85
Intent on blood, and lifts his murderous hand.
Twangs the bent bow—resounds the fateful dart,
Swift-wing’d, and trembles in a porker’s heart.

Ah, hapless porker! what can now avail[146]

Thy back’s stiff bristles, or thy curly tail? 90
Ah! what avail those eyes so small and round
Ah! what avail those eyes so small and round,
Long pendent ears, and snout that loves the ground?[147]

Not unreveng’d thou diest!—in after times[148]

From thy spilt blood shall spring unnumber’d crimes.
Soon shall the slaught’rous arms that wrought thy 95
woe,
Improved by malice, deal a deadlier blow;[149]
When social man shall pant for nobler game,
And ’gainst his fellow man the vengeful weapon aim.

As love, as gold, as jealousy inspires,[150]

As wrathful hate, or wild ambition fires, 100
Urged by the statesman’s craft, the tyrant’s rage,
Embattled nations endless wars shall wage,
Vast seas of blood the ravaged field shall stain,
And millions perish—that a king may reign!
105
For blood once shed, new wants and wishes rise;
[151]

Each rising want invention quick supplies.

To roast his victuals is man’s next desire,
So two dry sticks he rubs, and lights a fire.
Hail fire, &c. &c.
 No. XVII.

March 5, 1798.
We are obliged to a learned correspondent for the
following ingenious imitation of Bion.—We will not
shock the eyes of our fair readers with the original
Greek, but the following Argument will give them
some idea of the nature of the Poem here imitated.

ARGUMENT.
Venus is represented as bringing to the Poet, while
sleeping, her son Cupid, with a request that he
would teach him Pastoral Poetry—Bion complies,
and endeavours to teach him the rise and
progress of that art:—Cupid laughs at his
instructions, and in his turn teaches his master
the Loves of Men and Gods, the Wiles of his
Mother, &c.—“Pleased with his lessons,” says Bion,
“I forgot what I lately taught Cupid and recollect
in its stead only what Cupid taught me.”
 IMITATION, &c.[152]

WRITTEN AT ST. ANNE’S HILL.

Scarce had sleep my eyes o’erspread,
Ere Alecto sought my bed;
In her left hand a torch she shook,
And in her right led John Horne Tooke.
O thou! who well deserv’st the bays,
Teach him, she cried, Sedition’s lays—
She said, and left us; I, poor fool,
Began the wily priest to school;
Taught him how Moira sung of lights,
Blown out by troops o’ stormy nights;[153]
How Erskine, borne on rapture’s wings,
At clubs and taverns sweetly sings
Of self—while yawning Whigs attend—
Self first, last, midst, and without end;[154]
How Bedford piped, ill-fated Bard;[155]
Half-drown’d, in empty Palace-yard;
How Lansdowne, nature’s simple child,
At Bowood trills his wood-notes wild—[156]
How these and more (a phrenzied choir)
Sweep with bold hand Confusion’s lyre,
Till madding crowds around them storm
“For one grand radical Reform!”

Tooke stood silent for a while,

Listening with sarcastic smile;
Then in verse of calmest flow,
Sung of treasons, deep and low,
Of rapine, prisons, scaffolds, blood,
Of war against the great and good;
Of Venice, and of Genoa’s doom,
And fall of unoffending Rome;
Of monarchs from their station hurl’d,
And one waste desolated world.

Charm’d by the magic of his tongue,

I lost the strains I lately sung,
Whil th h t ht i i ’d
 While those he taught, remain impress’d
For ever on my faithful breast.
DORUS.

[BION. IDYLLIUM III. THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

TRANSLATED BY FAWKES.
As late I slumbering lay, before my sight
Bright Venus rose in visions of the night:
She led young Cupid; as in thought profound
His modest eyes were fixed upon the ground;
And thus she spoke: “To thee, dear swain, I bring
My little son; instruct the boy to sing”.
No more she said; but vanished into air,
And left the wily pupil to my care:
I,—(sure I was an idiot for my pains),
Began to teach him old bucolic strains;
How Pan the pipe, how Pallas formed the flute,
Phœbus the lyre, and Mercury the lute:
Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown,
Sang lighter lays, and sonnets of his own,
Th’ amours of men below, and gods above,
And all the triumphs of the queen of love.
I, sure the simplest of all shepherd swains,
Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains;
The lighter lays of Love my fancy caught,
And I remembered all that Cupid taught.—Ed.]

Something like the same idea seems to have

dictated the following Stanzas, which appear to be a
loose imitation of the beautiful Dialogue of Horace
and Lydia, and for which, though confessedly in a
lower style of poetry, and conceived rather in the
slang, or Brentford dialect, than in the classical Doric
of the foregoing Poem, we have many thanks to
return to an ingenious academical correspondent.
THE NEW COALITION.[157]