"And are there in this freeborn land

Among ourselves a venal band,

A dastard race, who long have sold

Their souls and consciences for gold;

Who wish to stab their country's vitals,

If they might heir surviving titles;

With joy behold our mischiefs brewing,

Insult and triumph in our ruin?

Priests who, if Satan should sit down,

To make a Bible of his own,

Would gladly for the sake of mitres,

Turn his inspired and sacred writers;

Lawyers, who should he wish to prove

His title t' his old seat above,

Would, if his cause he'd give 'em fees in,

Bring writs of Entry sur disseisn*,

Plead for him boldly at the session,

And hope to put him in possession;

Merchants who, for his kindly aid,

Would make him partners in their trade,

Hang out their signs in goody show,

Inscrib'd with 'Beelzebub and Co.'

And Judges, who would list his pages,

For proper liveries and wages;

And who as humbly cringe and bow

To all his mortal servants now?

There are; and shame with pointing gestures,

Marks out th' Addressers and Protesters;

Whom, following down the stream of fate,

Contempts ineffable await,

And public infamy forlorn,

Dread hate and everlasting scorn."

*A piece of paper allowing outright theft.     BACK