[195] In the _Journal_ of September 11, 1782, in answer to the effusion of the "Foe to Tyrants" in the _Gazetteer_ of September 7, entitled, "To the Foe to Malice. The Farewell." This farewell began as follows:
"When men will prostitute the power of rhime, Their dirt and malice jingling out of time; When men the sacred shrine of truth forsake, And deal in slander, just for slander's sake, 'Tis time to quit plain reason, common sense, And in their stile Correction to dispense.
"Our Theme first pointed to your _pale-fac'd_ friend Whom you forsook--unable to defend; To save his fame, you thought it best to fly To vile abuse, and low scurrility; Then feel the Weapons you yourself have us'd And blame not those you've dirtily abus'd."
The rest of the poem is too vile to reproduce.
(And addressed to all whom it may concern)
The sage who took the wrong sow by the ears, And more than kingdoms claimed for Vermonteers; Who, from twelve wigwams down to eight decreased, Is now your prophet, and may serve for priest-- Ye, who embraced the democratic plan, Yet with false tears beheld the wrongs of man-- To him apply--go--soothe him in distress,[197] To him fall prostrate--and to him confess. When first that slave of slaves began to write, Truth cursed his pen, and Reason took her flight: Dullness on him her choicest opiates shed, Black as his heart, and sleepy as his head. Him on her soil Hibernia could not bear; The viper sickened in that wholesome air,-- Then rushed abroad, a Jesuit, in disguise, Flush, on the wings of malice, rage, and lies; To this new world a nuisance and a pest, To curse the worthy, and abuse the best. Thou base born mass of insolence and dirt, With all the will, but not the power to hurt; Whose shallow brain each empty line reveals-- Art thou worth draggling at our chariot wheels? Who, on the surface of a rugged ground, Would stoop to trail your carcass round and round?-- No--like a Felon, hanged to after time, Be one more victim to the "force of rhyme." Waft us, ye powers, to some sequestered place, Where never malice shewed its hateful face-- Remove us far from all the ruffian kind (Baseness with insolence forever joined) To some retreat of solitude and rest-- Nor shall another pang disturb the breast-- When thought returns--and one regrets to know, He had to combat with a two-faced foe.