To a Female Satirist (an English Actress) on receiving from her No. 1.
of a very Satirical and Biting Attack[A]
"In the rag, in the rag—whewgh!—
"O well-flown dart."—
Shakespeare's King Lear.
[A] Six copies only, of this little Poem were printed and sent to the satirist—here the correspondence ended, 1797.—Freneau's note.
A Satire is arrived this day,
And it must be repelled this night:
Ye Powers! assist us what to say,
For, from ourselves, we nothing write.
We could have laughed at all you said,
But when you writ—it struck us dead!—
Megara!—do forbear to write,
Or rage with less malignant spite.
Leave it to men to snap and snarl—
Be you the sweet engaging girl—
Great in your smiles—weak in your arm—
All vengeance, with no power to harm.
I'll borrow from a scribbling set
A Raven's feather, black as jet,
And with the vengeance of the pen
Create confusion in your Den.
This, from an impulse all unknown,
Shall temper down your heart of stone,
Turn storms of hail to showers of rain,
And bring your happy smiles again.
But still, unwilling to resent
What folly for a Satire meant,
Peruse a fable that may blast,
And your number one—make number last.
In ancient times, no matter when,
A lady, in some ancient reign
(Perhaps in Greece, perhaps in Rome,
Perhaps in countries nearer home.)