Your true sublime, and lorn pathetick, She will abhor, like an emetick. But if so fortunate your case is, What time a thousand tender arts When half express'd, half stifled sigh, With crimson flush of beauty's cheek; And all in tender tone proclaim That hopes and wishes are the same ; Then may you fondly hope to prove THE CARRIER OF THE COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER, TO HIS PATRONS.* THAT unaccommodating churl, And in the course of last year's flight, he Concatenation of events, That your most humble servant flatters Himself a hint of some vast matters This personage has set afloat, is Well worth your honour's worship's notice. I don't say I am very knowing In all the great affairs now going; * Written for January 1st, 1806. But hope my recapitulation, (Though not a notable narration) And, with your honour's leave, I'll aim, Your humble carrier inherits By virtue of prodigious merits, More than in weeks he could lay down t’ye To smack a little of your bounty. Laden with all important budget, Thro' wet and dry I'm doom'd to trudge it, "News from all nations," precious particles, By last arrivals, all prime articles ;Though tempest-beaten, hot or frigerant, I tell you how the powers belligerent, Enrag'd to desperate degree, rose, And hack'd each other like true heroes. And you have learn'd from Tom the carrier, How Britain, Buonaparte's barrier, Won't let the mushroom Gallick king, land His ragamuffin rogues in England! A very unpolite proceeding, Which shows old John Bull's want of breeding. How Mister emperour Buonapart As quick as lightning took a start, Fierce as nine furies to attack The troops of old snail-motion'd Mack, But lo! the hardy Russ is hasting I've plac'd in ken of mental sight, A most tremendous naval fight, Where Nelson bold, Britannia's pride, I've worn out many a pair of shoes That you in corner snug may con Low in a mouse trap might as well To snare a mammoth, or a kraken. I've told you how the demo rout And having, by old Nick's seduction, And trace the good old federal track ;- And sold our commerce to old Davy, Sans sailors, skill, or naval stores, They'd conjure up fine seventy fours ;- Would bring us back where Adams left us. |