When Crimes thus brazen in the face of day, In vain may Sleep his store of opiate dews From horn inverted o'er my lids effuse: No tranquil slumbers soothe my midnight hour; Such scoundrels start to honours, wealth, and power! Should my tired sense imbibe the oblivious stream, Some VILE APOSTATE haunts my startling dream. P..t! at the name what myriad phantoms rise Virtue's chaste darling leagues with every knave: At his own creed the abjuring preacher rails, Sprang, bloom'd, and languish'd, in a summer's hour. h Holt, the publisher of the Newark Journal, was imprisoned in New. gate for reprinting, without alteration, a pamphlet by Major Cartwright, to which the Minister, as a member of a political society, had given countenance and circulation. The consequence to this young man was the ruin of his affairs, and death in a short time after. W. What MASON's erring Muse commends to Fame, E'en those, whom purer principles should sway Soon in this isle of swindlers shall we see Christians, whose bland sensations should embrace With arms expanded the whole human race; 1 Dr. John Jebb before his death was perfectly convinced of this man's insincerity; and used to cry out, prophetically, with the keenest regret for one, whom he had so patronised and applauded, “This young r—I will ruin every thing!" W. Where hapless Afric ENGLISH THIEVES assails They plunge the sword and link the rankling chain, The thriving villainies of future time Will strive in vain to reach our size of crime. With giant strides we gain the mountain's brow, And leave our father's dwarfish sins below. His noblest track, if bolder Vice should fire Some darling youth, the footsteps of his sire. Then launch forth, SATIRE! spread thine ample sail, And give the driving vessel to the gale. Yet I, to whom the Nine no boon impart, Who feel cold currents stagnate round my heart, No answerable stile for such a theme: And Freedom's sun, which cheer'd our isle before, F. Write, but, to scape the ruthless grasp of law, And-make no faces, while the king goes by!! A. Yet, though, should living culprits keenly smart, A jail reward the whirl of Satire's dart; And Scott exult, whilst prison'd Wakefield grieves k See 1 Kings, xiii. 18. W. S" the Case of Kydd Wake," who was confined for five years in a solitary cell, in Gloucester Gaol. See Ann. Reg. m Matt. xxi. 13. What bolts of law can thunder at this head, Ye Muses! if my quarry be the dead? Come then; and place, where W**m might have stood, APPENDIX. (G.) Some Remarks on the literary Character of Mr. WAKEFIELD, in a Letter from the Rev. Dr. PARR. DEAR SIR, WHATSOEVER traces of irritability, and sometimes even pertinacity, may occur in the publications of our excellent friend, Mr. Wakefield, I know, from my private correspondence with him, that, when treated with the respect due to his talents and attainments, he was patient under opposition, was grateful for information, and would honestly abandon some of those opinions and conjectures, which, previously to our discussions, he had believed to be well founded. "Conjectural criticism," says Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare," has been of great use in the learned world; nor is it my intention to depreciate a study, that has exercised so many mighty minds from the revival of learning to our own age, from [John Andreas] the bishop of Aleria to English Bentley;" and I shall myself add, as Johnson would have added, to Richard Porson." It is not easy," |