Who knows but Pomposo will give it in fee, Or make mister Shenkin the Grand Patentee!!! Then take to your scrapers, ye Republican Papers, No rogue shall go snacks--and the News-Paper Tax Shall be puff'd to the skies, as a measure most wise-- So, a spaniel, when master is angry, and kicks it, Sneaks up to his shoe, and submissively licks it. [57] Text from the edition of 1795. First published in the _National Gazette_, July 28, 1792, as number three of the Odes. In this, its earliest version, the opening line was "Since the day we attempted the Nation's Gazette." Before the title was the following: "Note well--the following is to be sung or said as occasion may require." Not reprinted in 1809. TO MY BOOK[58] Seven years are now elaps'd, dear rambling volume, Since, to all knavish wights a foe, I sent you forth to vex and gall 'em, Or drive them to the shades below: With spirit, still, of Democratic proof, And still despising Shylock's canker'd hoof: What doom the fates intend, is hard to say, Whether to live to some far-distant day, Or sickening in your prime, In this bard-baiting clime, Take pet, make wings, say prayers, and flit away. "Virtue, order, and religion, "Haste, and seek some other region; "Your plan is laid, to hunt them down, "Destroy the mitre, rend the gown, "And that vile hag, Philosophy, restore"-- Did ever volume plan so much before? For seven years past, a host of busy foes Have buzz'd about your nose, White, black, and grey, by night and day; Garbling, lying, singing, sighing: These eastern gales a cloud of insects bring That fluttering, snivelling, whimpering--on the wing-- And, wafted still as discord's demon guides, Flock round the flame, that yet shall singe their hides. Well!--let the fates decree whate'er they please: Whether you're doom'd to drink oblivion's cup, Or Praise-God Barebones eats you up, This I can say, you've spread your wings afar, Hostile to garter, ribbon, crown, and star; Still on the people's, still on Freedom's side, With full determin'd aim, to baffle every claim Of well-born wights, that aim to mount and ride. [58] First published in the _National Gazette_, August 4, 1792, as Ode IV in the series, "Odes on Various Subjects." It bore the title "To the National Gazette." The opening stanza was as follows: "Nine months are now elaps'd, dear rambling paper, Since first on this world's stage you cut your caper With spirit still of democratic proof, And still despising _Whaacum's_ canker'd hoof-- What doom the fates decree, is hard to say, Whether to live to some far distant day, Or sickening in your prime In this news-taxing clime, Take pet, make wings, say prayers, and flit away. AIR. _Virtue_, _Order_, and _Religion_,* Haste and seek some other region," etc.