When Crimes thus brazen in the face of day,
If Genius stagnate, Rage pours out the lay;
Such as Mathias and myself compose,
With lingering Parturition's painful throes:
Corruption's sink, that deluges our age,
Runs ductile to the pen, and spreads my page.

In vain may Sleep his store of opiate dews From horn inverted o'er my lids effuse: No tranquil slumbers soothe my midnight hour; Such scoundrels start to honours, wealth, and power! Should my tired sense imbibe the oblivious stream, Some VILE APOSTATE haunts my startling dream.

P..t! at the name what myriad phantoms rise
Of CRIMES and TREASONS to my wilder'd eyes!
Foul Crimes! dark Treasons! that throw down the fence
Of patriot Union, PUBLIC CONFIDENCE.

Virtue's chaste darling leagues with every knave:
Britain's Reformer fixes her a slave!

At his own creed the abjuring preacher rails,
And bids his proselytes despair in jails!
Sad AFRIC's sons the Crocodile bemoans,
With sighs that mock her agonies and groans:
Unpitying views the tear of Anguish start,
Despair's keen pang, and Sorrow's broken heart!
Spurn'd in the noon-tide of despotic sway
The pow'r, that hail'd and cheer'd thy morning ray;
Thy gaudy glories, a solstitial flower!

Sprang, bloom'd, and languish'd, in a summer's hour.

h Holt, the publisher of the Newark Journal, was imprisoned in New. gate for reprinting, without alteration, a pamphlet by Major Cartwright, to which the Minister, as a member of a political society, had given countenance and circulation. The consequence to this young man was the ruin of his affairs, and death in a short time after. W.

What MASON's erring Muse commends to Fame,
Lives but the shadowy semblance of a name.
JEBB, o'er thy coffin'd virtues, once his boast,
Too late repentant, dying, mourn'd them lost.

E'en those, whom purer principles should sway
Yield to the crimes, or follies, of the day.
Swoll'n with a deluge of autumnal rain,
Thus the wild Torrent wastes the fertile plain:
Nor shrubs alone his raging waters sweep;
Oak, harvest, flock, go plunging to the deep.
Hear, in one breath, vain ** curse and swear,
Talk bawdy, Scripture quote, and say a prayer!
This hour plucks Hardy from the fangs of Scott:
The next, a dungeon, Williams! is thy lot.

Soon in this isle of swindlers shall we see
Rich temples rise to their great Deity.
Our priests e'en now gird on Bellona's coat,
And blood-stain'd ensigns round our altars float..
Thy Spirit, Rome! sits brooding o'er the land,
And Christ with Mahomet walks hand in hand.
Our saints incline the knee to Mars alone,
Or Mammon thrusts Jehovah from his throne.

Christians, whose bland sensations should embrace

With arms expanded the whole human race;
Whose laws the bound of sect and tribe remove
With soft encroachments of fraternal love;-
Let HAVOC loose, and bid WAR's thunders roar
On Europe's plains, on India's distant shore;

1 Dr. John Jebb before his death was perfectly convinced of this man's insincerity; and used to cry out, prophetically, with the keenest regret for one, whom he had so patronised and applauded, “This young r—I will ruin every thing!" W.

Where hapless Afric ENGLISH THIEVES assails
With scorching sands and pestilential gales,

They plunge the sword and link the rankling chain,
While Ocean rolls his barrier tides in vain.

The thriving villainies of future time Will strive in vain to reach our size of crime. With giant strides we gain the mountain's brow, And leave our father's dwarfish sins below. His noblest track, if bolder Vice should fire Some darling youth, the footsteps of his sire. Then launch forth, SATIRE! spread thine ample sail, And give the driving vessel to the gale.

Yet I, to whom the Nine no boon impart,

Who feel cold currents stagnate round my heart,
Must hope, unaided by poetic dream,

No answerable stile for such a theme:

And Freedom's sun, which cheer'd our isle before,
Is quench'd in darkness, to illume no more!

F. Write, but, to scape the ruthless grasp of law,
The bullying judge, the ruffian jailor's paw,
Be Bethel's seer* thy model, if thou write:
Call Scott HUMANE! call Kenyon THE POLITE!
Praise Pitt; and round the couplet, if you can,
With FRIEND OF FREEDOM! and DELIGHT OF MAN!
View at each elbow an insidious spy;

And-make no faces, while the king goes by!!

A. Yet, though, should living culprits keenly smart,

A jail reward the whirl of Satire's dart;

And Scott exult, whilst prison'd Wakefield grieves
For preaching Jesus in a den of thieves: m

k See 1 Kings, xiii. 18. W.

S" the Case of Kydd Wake," who was confined for five years in a solitary cell, in Gloucester Gaol. See Ann. Reg.

m Matt. xxi. 13.

What bolts of law can thunder at this head,

Ye Muses! if my quarry be the dead?

Come then; and place, where W**m might have stood,
Some grisly CYCLOPS, smear'd with human blood.
Must some proud prelate feel the tingling lash?
Write LAUD at length, but Hy with a dash.
Name SAUL and FLACCUS boldly: but, beware!
No hint at B**f*d, no thought of Cl*e.
For K**n, JEFFRIES let your weapon hit;
And Rome's SEJANUS strike, for British P*t.

APPENDIX. (G.)

Some Remarks on the literary Character of Mr. WAKEFIELD, in a Letter from the Rev. Dr. PARR.

DEAR SIR,

WHATSOEVER traces of irritability, and sometimes even pertinacity, may occur in the publications of our excellent friend, Mr. Wakefield, I know, from my private correspondence with him, that, when treated with the respect due to his talents and attainments, he was patient under opposition, was grateful for information, and would honestly abandon some of those opinions and conjectures, which, previously to our discussions, he had believed to be well founded.

"Conjectural criticism," says Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare," has been of great use in the learned world; nor is it my intention to depreciate a study, that has exercised so many mighty minds from the revival of learning to our own age, from [John Andreas] the bishop of Aleria to English Bentley;" and I shall myself add, as Johnson would have added, to Richard Porson." It is not easy,"