Candour, Pens, Ink, and Paper

When ghosts appear, at dead of night,
Lo! Candour, cloathed all in white,
Stalk'd up to my 'scrutore:
The Papers shrunk beneath her hand,
The Ink turn'd pale within the stand,
Tho black as jet before.

The trembling goose-quills, in a fright,
Their feathers standing bolt upright,
Like Hamlet in the play
Cried, "Art thou?—Speak—a spright of health,
"Or goblin damn'd, that com'st by stealth?
"And—what hast thou to say?"

"I come," said she, " from St. John's gate,
"And with me bring the book of fate,
"The Ge'mman's Magazine.
"Here Samuel J — n — n's name behold,
"The first by his own hand enroll'd,
"In Fame's bright list is seen.

"Repeatedly engross'd you see
"The same by H — ks — th, L. L. D.
"At Lambeth dubb'd a doctor!
"He who, so learned in the laws,
"Had practis'd, had he found a cause,
"A client or a proctor.

"How dare ye then, ye miscreants base,
"This register of theirs deface,
"In manner so uncivil?
"And thou, vile implement of wit,
"Whose ears are cropp'd and nose is split,
"As mark'd out for the devil.

"He'll have you all, ye carping crew,
"And your uncandid master too,
"With envy puff'd and pride."
Provok'd at this outrageous fib,
The Pen turn'd short upon its nib,
And bristling up replied.

"Sure, madam, you yourself forget,
"Or else have ta'en your evening's whet;
"Can Candour be so rude?
"My master's snug in bed, and I
"Have hardly yet had time to try,
"Or we should maul a prude.

"Sam J— n — n! madam.—Don't you know
"That he was 'peach'd some time ago,
"Full fifteen years and more;
"When he and Lauder, link'd together,
"Robb'd Milton of the cap and feather,
"Shame forc'd them to restore.

"When Shakespear was assassinated,
"Such crimes you also said you hated,
"And wish'd th' assassin noos'd:
"And yet no sooner is he taken,
"Than you, to save the culprit's bacon,
"Complain he's hardly us'd.

"At Tyburn thus, with hearts so tender,
"When some flagitious old offender
"The mob hath just harangu'd;
"The wenches snivelling cry, in truth,
"The prisoner was a hopeful youth,
"'Tis pity that he's hang'd.

"But know that Shakespear, soon or late,
"Shall fully be aveng'd by fate,
"Without your gracious leave;
"Nor shall e'en Garrick's kindred worth,
"His best interpreter on earth,
"Get J — n — n a reprieve."