But gods like us have too much sense At poets flights to take offence:

Nor can hyperboles demean us;

Each drab has been compar'd to Venus.
We own your verses are melodious ;
But fuch comparisons are odious..

A VINDICATION OF THE LIBEL:

OR,

A NEW BALLAD, written by a SHOE-BOY, On an ATTORNEY who was formerly a SHOE-BOY.

"Qui color ater erat, nunc eft contrarius atro.”

WITH

ITH finging of ballads, and crying of news,
With whitening of buckles, and blacking of
fhoes,

Did Hartley* fet out, both shoeless and fhirtlefs,
And moneylefs too, but not very dirtless;

Two pence he had gotten by begging, that 's all ;
One bought him a brush, and one a black ball;
For clouts at a lofs he could not be much,

The cloaths on his back as being but fuch;
Thus vamp'd and accoutred, with clouts, ball, and brus,
He gallantly ventur'd his fortune to push:
Vefpafian thus, being befpatter'd with dirt,
Was omen'd to be Rome's emperor for 't.

* See the next poem.

But

A FRIENDLY APOLOGY

FOR A CERTAIN JUSTICE OF PEACE,

By Way of Defence of HARTLEY HUTCHINSON, Efq.

"But he by bawling news about,
"And aptly ufing brush and clout,
"A juftice of the peace became,

"To punish rogues who do the fame." HUD. By JAMES BLACK-WELL, Operator for the Feet,

SING the man of courage try'd,

O'er-run with ignorance and pride,
Who boldly hunted out difgrace
With canker'd mind and hideous face;
The first who made (let none deny it),
The libel-vending rogues be quiet.

The fact was glorious, we must own,
For Hartley was before unknown,

Contemn'd I mean ; for who would chufe
So vile a fubject for the Mufe?

"Twas once the nobleft of his wishes

To fill his paunch with fcraps from dishes, For which he 'd parch before the grate, - Or wind the jack's flow-rifing weight (Such toils as beft his talents fit), Or polifh fhoes, or turn the spit ; But, unexpectedly grown rich in 'Squire Domvile's family and kitchen, He pants to eternize his name, And takes the dirty road to fame;

Believes

Believes that periíecuting wit

prove the fureft way to it;

So, with a Colonel* at his back,
Tue Lival feels his first attack;
He calls it a feditious paper,

Writ by another Patriot Drapier;

Then raves and blunders nonfenfe thicker
That alderman o'ercharg'd with liquor;
And all this with defign, no doubt,
To hear his praises hawks'd about;
To fend his name through every fueet,
Which erft he roam'd with dirty feet
Well pleas'd to live to future times,
Though but in keen fatiric rhymes.

So Ajax, who, for aught we know,
Was juftice many years ago,
And minding then no earthly things,
But killing libelers of kings;
Or, if he wanted work to do,

To run a bawling news-boy through;
Yet he, when wrapp'd up in a cloud,
Entreated Father Jove aloud,
Only in light to fhew his face,
Though it might tend to his difgrace,
And fo th' Ephefian villain fir'd
The temple which the world admir'd,
Contemning death, defpifing fhame,
To gain an ever-odious name.

* Colonel Ker, a mere Scotchman, Lieutenant Colonel to Lord Harrington's regiment of dragoons, who made a news-boy evidence against the printer. IRISH ED.

DR.