A dorty huff, a pert rebuff, A jeft that meant nae harm, Bright wit itfel leads fome to h-11, Ye Sons of Laer, beware, beware. But gin ye 'll fight as well as write, Tak your difcharge frae thot that 's large-- CHORUS OF REVIEWERS. T have our brains blown out is pretty fun, EPIGRAM ON THE LATE PAPER WAR BETWEEN ANACREON MOORE AND THE EDITOR OF A REVIEW. WHEN Anacreon would fight, as the poets have said, For while all his poems were loaded with leal, 3 Fór For excufes old custom Anacreon may thank, The indulgence don't let him abufe; For the cartridge, you'll own, is always made blank, Bristol. T. E. H. THE HIBERNIAN POET. THE CALEDONIAN CRITIC. [From the Oracle] SEND coals to Newcastle," each child may read, So M-re aims papa pellets at that head, By nature rich-in Caledonian lead. THE HEROIC POET. A HIT. INSCRIBED TO THE MODERN ANACREON. Arma virumque cano. VIRGI ILLUSTRIOUS bard! to whofe foft pen belong A REVIEWER. ANACREON. . ANACREON. A SPECIMEN OF A NEW TRANSLATION. BY OLD NICK. [From the British Press.] Eis Luran.-Ode the Firft. WITH trembling hand I sweep the lyre, Each tender heart to move, And wake up all my wanton fire Away I fpurn the recreant lyre, A lyre lefs faithlefs now I choose, But love no more my lyre controls, MORE OF ANACREON. SECOND SPECIMEN OF A NEW TRANSLATION, *That I may not be deemed a plagiary, I confefs my obligation for these three expreffive words, to the Pindaric mufe of Dr. Walcot, in his chafte, delicate, fublime, and much-improved Ode on Sir Joseph Banks and the Fleas!" Fleas are not lobsters, d— their souls." † A Hydra, fo called (pupugit latenter Hydrus), and lately difcovered in Scotland. This venomous animal was unknown to ancient naturalifts. Love now fans me with those wings "Curfe the Critic, try to fhoot him!" ON CERTAIN LICENTIOUS POEMS LATELY PUBLISHED. [From the Morning Herald.] LISTEN to the voice of love, Your pretty hearts let mufic move— Your ears incline, ye gentle fwine, For though from you he learn'd to whine, Liften each briftly beau and belle, O liften to the voice of love, Ram cats on moonlight tiles; Ye goats, that ply your nimble fhanks On ancient Penmanmawr, Bleat him your thanks that fings your pranks, naturalifts. The colour of its fides is blue, its back yellow, and it appears with eight or ten long heavy heads, filled with teeth, exceedingly uneven, and like a thistle, which probably makes the poet mistake its bite for the fcratch of one of thofe rich ornaments of Caledonian fertility. It bears four young ones annually; one every three months. Ritfon, the commentator, died, it is faid, of its bite; and many other of Nature's Fools" have been grievously tormented by it. However, it is thought by fome, that its attack is very ferviceable; but muft own, that I have found no one who has had this service done him, by any means ready to coincide in the opinion.-No! rather "Judex damnatur;" the Critic is d-d. And And all ye Incubi that ride The nightmare through the gloom, And ye deluding fprites that lead He trains your imps, and makes them crimps, The old, the young, attend the song, And to the levy cluster. Difeafe and Shame applaud his name, By Circe's art the human heart Embruted foon fhall be; And they that once to virtue bow'd, Z. SPECIMEN OF BOMBAST. WRITTEN IN A VERY SULTRY DAY IN AUGUST, [From the General Evening Poft.] "IS too, too much! the skies in fufion boil! The molten fun o'erflows with cauftic death! From e'ery fiffure of the deep-cleft foil A furnace fteam afcends, and ftops my breath. Where are ye, all ye winds? in what dark cave, Deep in the bowels of the rock-ribb'd earth, Opprefs'd and fetter'd do ye wildly rave, And strive, importunate, for inftant birth? I then, in fome fuug nook, might stand the flock, But |