| Citation |
FJ.782.075
11 Sep 1782:41 (2/73)
TO THE FOE TO TYRANTS ON HIS FAREWELL, in the Independent
Gazetteer of the 7th. inst.
Since ink, thank heaven, is all the blood you spill,
Health to the driver of the true goose quill;
Such war shall leave no widow in despair,
Nor curse one orphan with the public care.
. . . [10 lines]
But such an odour scented from your song,
I stopt my nose and quickly pass'd along,
. . . [13 lines]
Before his eyes the sexton's spade appears,
And bells unceasing ring within his ears,
Already is his span of being fled,
Sense, wit, and reason all proclaim him dead;
In his own lines he toll'd his funeral knell,
And when he could not sing he stunk Farewell.
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