To The Royalist Unveiled[196]

(And addressed to all whom it may concern)

The sage who took the wrong sow by the ears, And more than kingdoms claimed for Vermonteers; Who, from twelve wigwams down to eight decreased, Is now your prophet, and may serve for priest-- Ye, who embraced the democratic plan, Yet with false tears beheld the wrongs of man-- To him apply--go--soothe him in distress, To him fall prostrate--and to him confess. When first that slave of slaves began to write, Truth cursed his pen, and Reason took her flight: Dullness on him her choicest opiates shed, Black as his heart, and sleepy as his head. Him on her soil Hibernia could not bear; The viper sickened in that wholesome air,-- Then rushed abroad, a Jesuit, in disguise, Flush, on the wings of malice, rage, and lies; To this new world a nuisance and a pest, To curse the worthy, and abuse the best. Thou base born mass of insolence and dirt, With all the will, but not the power to hurt; Whose shallow brain each empty line reveals-- Art thou worth draggling at our chariot wheels? Who, on the surface of a rugged ground, Would stoop to trail your carcass round and round?-- No--like a Felon, hanged to after time, Be one more victim to the "force of rhyme." Waft us, ye powers, to some sequestered place, Where never malice shewed its hateful face-- Remove us far from all the ruffian kind (Baseness with insolence forever joined) To some retreat of solitude and rest-- Nor shall another pang disturb the breast-- When thought returns--and one regrets to know, He had to combat with a two-faced foe.

This poem appeared September 25, 1782. The laureate of the Independent Gazetteer, after his farewell on September 7, was silent until October 15, when he produced the following:

"STANZAS addressed to little FR--N--U, Poetaster to the Skunk-scented association, and successful imitator of STERNHOLD and HOPKINS, of poetical memory; in humble imitation of his own doggerel.

"Fr--n--u, great man! 'tis thee I sing, And to thy shrine just incense bring The attribute of praise; To thee, who scorn'd all common rules, Supreme of dunces, chief of fools, I dedicate my lays.

"Sternhold is dead! What though he be? Another Sternhold now in thee Beotia's sons explore; Like this, thy mind is clear and bright, Transparent as the darkest night, When angry tempests roar.

"Thy verse, but ah! my powers are vain, To tell the wonders of thy brain Where mists of dullness sit; Cimmerian darkness round thy head, It's sable mantle long hath spread, To veil thy wooden wit.

"Thy satire, mystic type of lead, Keen as a dart without a head, And vigorous as age; 'Twould almost make a mill-stone cry To have thy muse its enemy, When cloathed in her rage.

"Thy bold, heroic numbers swell, As lofty as the deepest well Where noxious vapours rise; Thy song as sweet as Bellman's note, When spun through Mitchell's[a] brazen throat, Or midnight Watchmen's cries.

[a] Cryer of Philadelphia.

"Thy eyes, the index of the soul, With mad, poetic fury roll, In eager search of fame; Thy face, ye gods! ah! what a face! Thy air, thy port, thy quaint grimmace, Add honor to thy name.

"When, late, sleep's Goddess, clos'd my eyes, And dreams in sweet gradation rise, Soul-soothing guests of night, Methought the cloud-invelop'd Queen[b] Display'd her dull, somnific mien, In majesty and might.

[b] The Queen of Dullness.

"Thick, opiate dews she did dispense, Whilst poppies, foes to wit and sense, Hung pendant from her head; Safe in her hand, by love, impell'd. Great Fr--n--u's sacred form she held, Impress'd on genuine lead.

"With blinking, am'rous, rush-light eyes She view'd her blest Saturnine prize, As conscious of his worth; Then smooth'd the wrinkles of her frown, And shook her poppy-teeming crown, With unaffected mirth.

"'Go on (she cry'd), with fervent zeal, Thou glory of that common-weal, Where dullness bears the sway! E'en L--e to thee shall yield the chair, His rhimes shall vanish into air, Before thy duller lay.

"'Corcoran,[c] long ago, hath fled, And roving Jem,[d] 'tis said, is dead, Those foes to common sense; Now Fr--n--u thou, their son and heir. More stupid than a stupid mare, Steps forth in my defence.

[c] Dr. Corcoran, a poetaster, well known.

[d] Jemmy, the rover, a sonnetter of the Pennsylvania line.

"'Thee shall no wisdom e'er molest, No wit shall perforate thy breast, Nor humour shew her face; Thy drowsy verse shall prove a balm, Specific as the hundredth psalm, When W--ch--r sings base.

"'Each flow'r of Billingsgate I'll cull, To render thee, my son, more dull, If duller thou canst be, Thy works with Sternhold's shall be bound, While Hopkins, from the dark profound, Shall yield the palm to thee.'

"She ceas'd, and all that own'd her cause, In one loud transport of applause, Burst like a sudden gale; All hail, great man! was Bailey's cry, Hail! Joe, and Skunk, and Tom, reply, Dullness and Fr--n--u, hail!"

"To him apply, dear Oswald, in distress."--Independent Gazetteer.