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UPON HIS NEWLY-INVENTED PATENT CAN
By MALCOLM MʻGREGOR, Esq.
APULEII.Met. Lib. 7.
ILLUSTRIOUS PINCHBECK! condescend,
These lyric lines to view;
That burns a little blue.
It once had got a stately wick,
The Revolution put it:
Till B— first dar'd to smut it.
Since then—but wherefore tell the tale ? Enough, that now it burneth pale,
And sorely wastes its tallow : Nay, if thy poet rightly weens, (Tho’ little skill'd in Ways and Means)
Its Save-all is but shallow.
Come then, ingenious artist, come,
Into each polish'd handle ;
To trim Old ENGLAND's candle.
But first, we pray, for its relief,
It else must quickly rue it;
The melting of the suet.
There's Twitcher too, that old he-witch,
And makes a filthy pother;
”T will soon be in a smother.
I fear me much, in such a plight,
Canadian fanes that deck;
Our Lady of QUEBEC.
His arms, thou hallow'd image, bless!
He is thy Faith's Defender ;
And not to the Pretender.
Haste, then, and quash the hot turmoil,
And frights the Mother Nation :
A most superb oblation.
Ilis patent snuffers, in a dish
His Cyclops shall bestir
A huge Extinguisher.
To form the mass, — , thy zeal
Thou didst at Minden brandish ;
Ilis ponderous leaden standish.
Poor Doctor Johnson, I'm afraid,
His style's case-harden'd graces !
Shall melt their brazen faces.
And sure, this mixt metallic stuff,
To mould the mighty cone.
'T will weigh some thousand stone.
“Leave that to me,” our Lady cries, “ Howe'er gigantic be its size,
“ I have a scheme in petto: “I'll fly with it from shore to shore, “ Safe as my sooty sister bore
“ Her cottage to Loretto.