and Bute the ‡murd’rous Bill invent,
North brings it in—’tis pass’d—and gains Assent.
No Tax, no Pain, no Penalty’s too much;
All are thrice hallow’d by the Scepter’s touch.
Thus by no Tyranny the Slave’s oppress’d;
The Means are sacred, and the End is bless’d.
He’s the best Subject who most prostrate lyes,
He’s the true Patriot who submits and dyes.
Thus Johnson Writes:—at Court his Works have praise;
No Resolution-Whims in George’s Days!
[print edition page 164]
Thus frantic Savages present their Breast,
To pointed Lightnings, with false Zeal possess’d;
Behold th’ Enthusiasts all Jove’s rage invoke;
And he’s the Happiest who receives the Stroke.
O mighty King! wise Council! righteous Throne!
Where Freedom, Property, nor Life’s our own.
Britons, adore this Sun, that gilds your Days;
Surround St. James’s with new Songs of Praise.
Let WILKES no more, like BECKFORD’S GHOST,4 arise,
And with PETITIONS sear his Sov’reign’s Eyes.
For wrong’d America let Pity cease,
Let all her Sons be massacr’d in Peace.
Those Minds, says GEORGE, which Sympathy can stir,
In blackest Treason with his Foes concurr.
Those are his Foes; BUTE’S, NORTH’S, and MANSFIELD’S too,
Who of their Actions take too near a View.
Demand the Cause why Sword or Famine drinks
Bostonian-blood?—Crys Johnson, Boston thinks;
Thinks as her cursed Ancestors were us’d,
By whom our MARTYR CHARLES was so abus’d.
O glorious Martyrdom! henceforth appear
The Joyous Feast of ev’ry future Year.
Blest be those Shades! who taught our Kings to dread
No Loss of Honour like a Loss of Head!
’Tis that alone, my Lord, that can restrain
Kings and their Minions in a Tyrant-Reign.
The Good or Ill their Ministers may do,
Arises always from the Point in view.
Their darling Aim gives Life to their Designs;
Now vacates Patents, and now watches Mines.
[print edition page 165]
To Day, supplants a BENTINCK in his Right,
And backs mean LOWTHER in a legal Fight;
The Board of Customs by Direction meet
To morrow, and pronounce SIR JAMES a Cheat.
For why? of late SIR JAMES too restive draws;
To scourge him NORTH pretends a PUBLIC CAUSE.
Now for SIR JAMES, in PATENTS *picking Holes,
And now against him for his Frauds in Coals.
Thus we discern the Justice of the State;
That Kings and Ministers breathe Life or Fate;
PETITIONS as rebellious are withstood;
Whilst Spleen is gratify’d for Public good.
Beware the Goal, my Lord, nor drive too high;
Kings dare be Tyrants, but they durst not dye.
’Tis a nice Conduct that can steer between
King’s Lusts, Mens Rights, and Ills that intervene.
When godlike Kings (like ALFRED)5 give Assent
To all that can relieve, assist, content;
When Justice by the royal Touch gains force,
And Virtue is supported in her Course;
When regal Power is for a Blessing us’d,
And Mercy like the Beams of Heav’n dissus’d;
Then Righteousness and Truth surround the Throne;
Then Kings are Ministers that Heav’n may own.
By Day their presence gives all Hearts delight,
[print edition page 166]
And ev’ry Subject is their *guard by Night.
But when inflate with Pride they Ape the GOD;
Affect to damp Addresses with a Nod;
Check and o’er bear the humble Suiter’s Claim,
And give to Liberty, vile Treason’s Name;
When in their Face and Words the Tyrant’s reigns,
And Free-born Subjects must receive their Chains;
When you, my Lord, behold this daring Scene;
With caution steer your little Bark between
The Sov’reign’s and the Subject’s side;
On a rough Sea behold each Vessel ride,
This mann’d by Freedom, that by Tyrant Pride.
Beware, my Lord; nor with a Bravo’s boast,
Trust your small Pennace from the safer Coast.
Send Sandwich out, whose Tongue so vilely runs†
And bid Clay Harvey,‡ whip him to the Guns.
See what the Mansfield, or the Bute can do,
When Freedom’s Fleet triumphant bears in view.
Hark!—England tells you that she will be Free:
Your servile Force turns pale; your Commons flee.
Mark well the Conflict, Lord; lament the shock;
If England conquers, you must kiss the BLOCK.
See, like a Coward, how the MANSFIELD flies!
At the first Fire, BUTE, and CORRUPTION, dies,
Against a Nation’s Rage what Force can stand?
Your hirling Army’s lessen’d to a Band.
Your venal Commoners, your vaunting Lords,
(How great a Change the fate of War affords!)
Your IDOL too, and IDOL now no more,
Kneel before those whose Suits they spurn’d before;
[print edition page 167]
Not now insulting in despotic Strains.
But bound in wrong’d BRITANNIA’S awful Chains.
Then her stern Lion rousing from her Den,
Shall treat pale Tyrants as they now treat Men.
MINIONS and TRAYTORS, in the Wreck be hurl’d,
And INJUR’D SUBJECTS see a better World.
CASCA
No. XIX. will be addressed to the KING.6
Printed