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AN EPIGRAM
ON WOOD'S BRASS MONE.
CARTERET was welcom'd to the shore
First with the brazen cannons roar;
To meet him next the soldier comes,
With brazen trumps and brazen drums;
Approaching near the town, he hears
The brazen bells salute his ears:
But, when Wood's brass began to sound,
Guns, trumpets, drums, and bells, were drown'd.
AS when of old some sorceress threw
O'er the moon's face a sable hue,
To drive unseen her magick chair,
At midnight through the darken’d air;
Wise people, who believ'd with reason
That this eclipse was out of season,
Affirm'd the moon was sick, and fell
To cure her by a counter spell.
Ten thousand cymbals now begin
To rend the skies with brazen din;
The cymbals' rattling sounds dispel
The cloud, and drive the hag to Hell.
