THE POETICAL ALTERCATION BETWEEN BENEDICK and BEATRICE. EXTRACTED FROM THE MORNING CHRONICLE. (K—K, whom we…

K—K, whom we may justly class in Th' envenom'd race of Scribes-assassin, Accosts the celebrated Davy, With "Sir, your humble—Phoebus save ye! "A comedy I've newly written— Curse me! if any bard in Britain Can shew you one of equal merit; Nay, half so full of wit and spirit. You'll find it, Sir, all air, all life; E'en better than my Widowed Wise. A piece like this must always please one: By G—d 'twill run you half the season! Therefore, Sir Roscius, pray remember To have it ready in November." Garrick refus'd—Curse me, cries Ken, I'll trounce the scoundrel with my pen. Refuse my piece! I'll make him play't, or I'll brand him for fair Beauty's traitor. I'll have him in the Suds—I'll maul him, And Bickerstaff's Accomplice call him. When I have christen'd him Indorser, His fame is gone, his acting's o'er, Sir: The men in a tumultuous rage Will hiss and pelt him off the stage; Nay not one female—I'll so snap him— Will even condescend to clap him.

So a young brim in Catharine-street A man of sober cast will greet; "Give me," she cries, with luring leer, "Give me a glass of wine, my dear." Then grasps his arm with seeming rapture, In hopes of making him her capture. But if in prudence he forbear To venture on her dangerous ware, Or to her painted beauty cold, He force the nymph to quit her hold, Th' indignant brim exclaims aloud, T' exasperate the passing crowd; And, in most diabolic spite, Pronounces him a Sodomite.