They dare vexatious suits, as well they may,
Who have nor shame, nor wherewithal to pay.
Let them enjoy in secret, dirty souls,

Their miserable bread, and peck of coals;

'Twere cowardice to drag them from their holes. What can provoke thy Muse? scarce thrice a year

productions of Dr. Walcott. The original Peter is too often profane, but never dull. One of Mr. Agg's latest productions is a poem called "Waterloo," which he modestly informs us, is " full of blunders ;" in consideration of which he charges only the trifling sum of twenty-five shillings; being twenty for the paper, and five for the poetry. The following stanza is moderately intelligible:

"Bold is the bard that grasps the thong of war,

Drives his wing'd steeds, and guides his thund'ring car,
Where havoc stalks, a hydra multiform,

That, while the whirlwind of the field is high,
And rival lightnings redden to the sky,

Surveys the horrors with poetic eye,

And models there the echo of the storm!!!

Dauntless the glance that skims the blasted heath,

And marks with steady orb the gluttony of death."

Hissing hot, Master Brooke !". -" Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind!"

+ Mr. Manners, late editor of the " Satirist," was renowned for throwing as much dirt as any of his contemporary libellers. In person he resembles the "Phantom Moore,"

"Of such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise,

Twelve starveling bards of these degenerate days.”

Matilda's woeful madrigals appear;

Lewis no more the tender maid affrights
With incantations, ravishments, and sprites :
Crusca, (to Gifford thanks !) is fairly fled,
And heavy Wharton † sleeps among the dead;
E'en Walcott's impious blasphemies are o'er,
And Andrews' Prologues are the vogue no more.

What can provoke thy Muse?-the blinded school, Whose greatest boast was that it err'd by rule, That philosophic horde of fools and knaves Has fall'n-nor Paine blasphemes, nor Priestley

raves.

Repentant bigots bow and kiss the rod,

And prostrate nations own the name of God.
Reason, that dang'rous pride of human kind,
For ever soaring, and for ever blind;
Prone to distrust when tardy to discern,

Too weak to compass, yet too proud to learn;
With shame reviews each ill-digested plan,
And turns with horror from "The Rights of Man."

* Rosa Matilda, as she poetically styles herself, is the daughter of the notorious Jew King; and the writer of innumerable Odes, Elegies, Sonnets, and sundry volumes of " Horrors;" very terrible and meritorious productions.

+ Mr. Wharton has presented the public with an Epic, known by the name of "Roncesvalles."

What can provoke thy Muse?-in silence deep
Tooke rests-but not in everlasting sleep: *
Another scene awaits his trembling sight,
A gloom more awful, or a blaze more bright!
The veil is rent, the Sceptic's hateful name †
Stands justly branded with contempt and shame ;
The Christian Banner is again unfurl'd,
And Truth once more illumes a falling world.

P. All this is true-but still enough remains,

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* During the French Revolution, a law passed, decreeing the sleep of death to be eternal. To such philosophers I reply in the sublime language of Tully: Quod si in hoc erro, quod animos hominum immortales esse credam, libenter error; nec mihi hunc errorem, quo delector dum vivo, extorqueri volo; sin mortuus, ut quidam minuti philosophi censent, nihil sentiam; non vereor, ne hunc errorem meum mortui philosophi irideant."

Let me also add a passage from a good old English Dramatist:

"Wits that presum'd

On wit too much, by striving how to prove
There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,
Discover'd first the nearest way to hell,

And fill'd the world with devilish atheism."

+ It has become popular to inveigh against the avarice, pride, and intolerance of the Church; and those have joined loudest in the cry who possessed the largest share of the sacrilegious plunder wrested from her by a sensual and ferocious tyrant, and lavished on his pimps, of whom these ingrate railers are the right honorable (?) representatives and successors. Fanatics of every variety of creed, hating,

Enough in conscience to provoke my strains.
See Thelwall,* void of decency and sense,
Erect, God wot! a school for eloquence;
The newest style of rhetoric to teach,

And full-grown gentlemen their parts of speech:
While from his tub, Gale Jones, sedition's sprite,
Nonsense with sense confounds, and wrong with

right;

Rants, bounces, capers, a fantastic show!

To scare the shilling orators below.
Prolific Pasquin plies th' eternal quill,

Fitzgerald rhymes, and Cobbett proses still;
Hoarse Clio Rickman's + sonnets bay the moon,

persecuting, and reviling each other, have held a temporary truce, and welcomed into their ranks the notoriously profligate and profane to make head against their common enemy. How-itt happens that a mountebank in quaker masquerade should presume to charge any set of men with hypocrisy and fraud, is a question that the impudent imposter who babbles so much about priests and priestcraft can best answer. It is surely enough for this low buffoon to be the scandal of one sect, without craving the additional infamy of lifting his hoof against a faith, that, while it deplores his errors, despises his animosity.

* Mr. Thelwall continues "tuning his voice, and balancing his hands,"

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Preacher at once, and zany of the age!"

† A citizen of the world! for in this character he has the effrontery to parade the streets, to the no small enter

Clio, a poet, patriot, and buffoon.

Godwin pursues his philosophic schemes,
And rapt in trance, Joanna Southcott dreams;
Jeffrey turns critic, but betrays his trust,
And hot-press'd Little breathes the soul of lust;
While chaste Minerva kindly lends her aid
To calm the scruples of each wishful maid.
Lo, mad enthusiasts,* would-be saints, stand forth,
Sworn foes to god-like genius, private worth,
With furious zeal attack e'en Shakespeare's fame,

tainment of the mob; and display his ludicrous figure (rendered still more ridiculous by the affectation of a whimsical costume,) in the print shops. Clio is a contributor of Odes and Sonnets to the Monthly Magazine; an avowed admirer of the new French school of philosophy; and a staunch advocate for " The Rights of Man."

* The following criticism is taken from the third volume of the Eclectic Review, Part 1, p. 76. Art. Twiss's "Verbal Index of Shakespeare." "He (Shakespeare) has been called, and justly too, the poet of nature; a slight acquaintance with the religion of the Bible will shew, however, that it is of human nature in its worst shape, deformed by the basest passions, and agitated by the most vicious propensities, that the poet became the priest; and the incense offered at the altar of his goddess still continues to spread its poisonous fumes over the hearts of his countrymen, till the memory of his works is extinct. Thousands of unhappy spirits, and thousands yet to increase the number, will everlastingly look back with unutterable anguish on the nights and days in which the plays of Shakespeare ministered to their guilty delights.". . And again, "What Christian