LOWLY to thee, his liege, with love and reverence bending,
Christopher North presents this tome, the twelfth of his labours.
May thine eye be pleased, and thy heart well satisfied, while thou
Rovest o'er the varied page of Maga vested in olive.
Nonsense, perhaps, is there much random writing, and some too
Of that abundant food which joys in the title of Balaam.
But besides these much more, thy cultivate mind will discover—
Many a page rich fraught with wit, and beauty, and pathos,
Jewels of sparkling verse, and high and rapturous musings,
Tale, and critique, and song, of woe, or drollery, swelling
From the grief-stricken heart, or the soul loud-laughing in gladness ;—
And above all, the voice for ever boldly proclaiming,
HONOUR TO THEE, O KING, AND PRIDE IN THE GLORY OF BRITAIN !
Torn be his tongue from his mouth, and trampled his lip in the kennel,
If while life remains, while his Magazine flourishes proudly,
Such a voice be not heard from loyal Christopher's bosom.
Scoundrel indeed is he, in ruffian Whiggery thrice dyed,
Who can withhold from thee due meed of praise and of honour,
Mirror of brilliant Kings !—the PRINCE and GENTLEMAN blended!
Elegant, graceful, polite, kind, affable MONARCH OF FREEMEN!