His patrons in England, and some who are here, Consented to join in his sink of scurrility, And gave him, tis certain, four thousand a year To print a damn'd libel, to please our nobility: Where I--is the hero of all that is said I--Corporal Cobbett[A]-a man of the blade! If his countrymen thought That for nothing we fought And they mean to regain, by the aid of his press, A country they lost, to their shame and disgrace, Let them fairly engage In some liberal page: We can give them an answer, not relish'd by some, Who will see their friend Peter go, whimpering, home. [A] Alluding to the egotistical style of his writings.--_Freneau's note._ [145] From the edition of 1815. TO THE SCRIBE OF SCRIBES[146] By the gods of the poets, Apollo and Jove, By the muse who directs me, the spirits that move, I council you, Peter, once more, to retire Or satire shall pierce, with her arrows of fire. Be careful to stop in your noisy career, Or homeward retreat, for your danger is near: The clouds are collecting to burst on your head, Their sulphur to dart, or their torrents to shed. Along with the tears, I foresee you will weep, In the cave of oblivion I put you to sleep;-- This dealer in scandal, this bladder of gall, This sprig of Parnassus must go to the wall. From a star of renown in the reign of night He has dwindled away to a little rush-light: Then snuff it, and snuff it, while yet it remains And Peter will leave you the snuff for your pains.-- [146] From the edition of 1815. TO THE AMERICANS OF THE UNITED STATES[147] First published November, 1797 Men of this passing age!--whose noble deeds Honour will bear above the scum of Time: Ere this eventful century expire, Once more we greet you with our humble rhyme: Pleased, if we meet your smiles, but--if denied, Yet, with Your sentence, we are satisfied. Catching our subjects from the varying scene Of human things; a mingled work we draw, Chequered with fancies odd, and figures strange, Such, as no courtly poet ever saw; Who writ, beneath some Great Man's ceiling placed; Travelled no lands, nor roved the watery waste. To seize some features from the faithless past; Be this our care--before the century close: The colours strong!--for, if we deem aright, The coming age will be an age of prose: When sordid cares will break the muses' dream, And Common Sense be ranked in seat supreme. Go, now, dear book; once more expand your wings: Still in the cause of Man severely true: Untaught to flatter pride, or fawn on kings;-- Trojan, or Tyrian,[A]--give them both their due.-- When they are right, the cause of both we plead, And both will please us well,--if both will read. [A] Tros, Tyriusque mihi nullo discrimine agetur.--Virg_.--Freneau's note._