Classic Poem

Address'd to Messrs . R — — Y , H — — S , and M — — N , upon reading Mr. P IERCE'S Narrative concerning his late-invented Styptic Medicines .

Shame to such vile, detracting Elves!
What! Merit centers in themselves?
O! yes; no Doubt you'll find it true,
If P IERCE'S Story you review;
Peruse his honest artless Page,
In proper Colours see the Age;
This Spleen struck World of envious Souls,
Whom canker'd Interest controuls;
Observe how patient Merit bears
The Pride of Office; — down my Tears,
Or I shall, Female-like, bewail,
Reading this worthy Artist's Tale.
Gods! what Abuse! And shall Mankind,
Because a Selfish few are blind,
Want his approv'd , this noble Art?
Shame to Venality of Heart!
No, fear it not, my honest Rhimes,
(Nor am I vain) to coming Times,
Shall with a P IERCE'S Worth unite,
And hand " Desert " to public Sight.