Classic Poem

Upon a certain Bath P RINTER , who grossly abuses the Public by writing in his own weekly Paper a vulgar , scandilizing Review, under the Signature of F RANK F REEMAN , and others .

The IMPOSITOR Unmask'd.

Not print my Lines, good Master K*** E ,
You've Reasons, clear as Day-light seen;
What P***e and you (a noble Pair)
Resolve t' engross the public Ear:
Nothing, but pleasing to themselves,
These wou'd-be Witlings, dirty Elves,
Wou'd force the Public to comply
With Terms as servile; — but shall I
Per-force conform? and, like the Town,
Swallow your Grub-Street F REEMAN down? —
No — thus with honest Zeal I burn,
And claim Attention in my Turn.

W ITH foul-mouth'd Scandal running o'er,
( Thersites never rail'd before)
Abusing in his paltry News,
Which this bright Genius calls R EVIEWS !
Those Characters, which well I ween
Wou'd pass unnotic'd in a Scene;
But Prejudice, with jaundic'd Eye ,
Makes this ( Mock Freeman , by the bye)
Drawcansir like, or wrong or right,
Dissect, impale, at very Sight.
Fie! Soul-gall'd P** E , restrain your Rage,
Why thunder thus against the Stage?
Why on devoted A RTHUR'S Head,
Hurl thus to waste your weekly Lead?
" Hence to your Closet, shut you in, "
Purge your own Life from foulest Sin
Apply this Hint — or, if it's meet,
I'll quote a Proof from Avon-Street .
Stick to your Shop — the Devils swear
Your Holiness is seldom there;
Nor with rude Insult — all your own ,
Blurt your Pit-noise in Face of Town:
Corrode at home, thou Spleen-struck Elf,
There strictly probe thy dirty Self ;
We'll bear no Insolence from T HEE —
Down with this Purge, it comes from ME.