[185] This title first appeared in the 1809 edition. In the edition of 1795 the title was "To Shylock Ap-Shenkin, an abusive court writer." [186] The twelve lines in quotation points in the poem by "The Foe to Tyrants" were taken, with little change, from Churchill's "Epistle to William Hogarth." [187] "Sneak into prose--the dunce's last retreat."--_Ed. 1786._ [188] The attack of "The Foe to Tyrants" was directed mainly against General Joseph Reed, the "pale Joe" of the poem. So bitter and persistent were the attacks of "Oswald's Scribblers" that Reed, in the _Journal_ of Sept. 11, published a protest against the "set of men in this city [who] uninjured and unprovoked by me are weekly pouring forth some abuse under anonymous signatures." And early in 1783 he put forth a pamphlet entitled "Remarks on a late publication in the _Independent Gazetteer_, with a short address to the people of Pennsylvania on the many libels and slanders which have lately appeared against the author." A second edition was called for several weeks after the first issue of this pamphlet. [189] Freneau signed these lines as they appeared in the _Journal_ "A FOE TO MALICE." TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST[190] In Answer to a Second Attack[191] _Quid immerentes hospites vexas, canis Ignavus adversum lupos? Quin huc inanes, si potes, vertis minas, Et me remorsurum petis?--_ --Hor. _Epod._ 10. Base as they are, this rancorous royal crew[192] Seem baser still, when they are praised by you. By you adorned in regal garb they shine, Sweat through your verse, and stink in every line. True child of folly--eldest of her tribe-- How could you dream that you were worth a bribe.-- Ill-fated scribbler, with a pointless quill, Retract the threat you dare not to fulfil: Round your own neck the wythe or halter twine, And be the science of a hangman thine:--[193] Have we from you purloined one shred of wit, Or did we imitate one line you writ? Peace to your verse!--we do not rob the dead, The clay-cold offspring of a brazen head. Doctor! retire! what madness would it be To point artillery at a mite like thee?-- Such noxious vermin clambering from their shell, By squibs and crackers might be killed as well. But, if you must torment the world with rhymes, (Perhaps you came to curse us for our crimes) In sleepy odes indulge your smoky wit, Pindarics would your happy genius fit-- With your coarse white-wash daub some miscreant's face, Puppies advanced, or traitors in disgrace:[194] To gain immense renown we leave you free, Go, scratch and scribble, uncontrouled by me:-- Haste to the realms of nonsense and despair-- The ghosts of murdered rhymes will meet you there; Like rattling chains provoke unceasing fears, And with eternal jinglings--stun your ears.