[118] From the 1815 edition. In the edition of 1809 it bore the title: "The American Demosthenes. Occasioned by a very weak and insipid discourse on a Fourth of July, indirectly reprobating the Democratic Representative System." This version consisted of the first, second, and last stanzas above, with the following after the second stanza: "Grunts, and long groans, and periods of a mile, Were on the sleepy audience tumbled down;-- 'Twas thus from forts, contrived in antique style, From Troy's high walls (Where flew no balls) The men who fought With reason thought, They had a right From that safe height, (By way of lessening their besiegers' number) To tumble on their heads Rocks, beams, or roofs of sheds, Cows' horns, bricks, rubbish, chamber pots, or lumber." MEGARA AND ALTAVOLA[119] To a Female Satirist (an English Actress) on receiving from her No. 1. of a very Satirical and Biting Attack[A] "_In the rag, in the rag--whewgh!_-- "_O well-flown dart._"-- _Shakespeare's_ KING LEAR. [A] Six copies only, of this little Poem were printed and sent to the satirist--here the correspondence ended, 1797.--_Freneau's note._ A Satire is arrived this day, And it must be repelled this night: Ye Powers! assist us what to say, For, from ourselves, we nothing write. We could have laughed at all you said, But when you writ--it struck us dead!-- Megara!--do forbear to write, Or rage with less malignant spite. Leave it to men to snap and snarl-- Be you the sweet engaging girl-- Great in your smiles--weak in your arm-- All vengeance, with no power to harm. I'll borrow from a scribbling set A Raven's feather, black as jet, And with the vengeance of the pen Create confusion in your Den. This, from an impulse all unknown, Shall temper down your heart of stone, Turn storms of hail to showers of rain, And bring your happy smiles again. But still, unwilling to resent What folly for a Satire meant, Peruse a fable that may blast, And your number one--make number last. In ancient times, no matter when, A lady, in some ancient reign (Perhaps in Greece, perhaps in Rome, Perhaps in countries nearer home.) This lady, rather fond of Fun, Had put a suit of armour on: With bow and arrows, and her fan She conquered many an honest man. One day she met, in a desart waste A wight unseemely to her taste; His brow, she thought, had too much frown; Thought she, "I'll fetch the fellow down." And strait she bends her twanging bow, And to his breast the arrows go! They tore a passage through his vest, But bounded from his solid chest. Another dart she aimed, and missed, Then boarded him, and bit his fist-- Her grinders left a trifling mark-- They were not grinders of a shark.