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THE CRISIS. NUMBER XXVII.
TO THE KING.
Each British Ghost by thee depriv'd of Breath,
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy Death.
POPE's Homer.
REFORM thy conduct, Monarch, or attend,
The doom denounc'd, by virtue's constant friend,
Heav'ns awful God, his mandate 'tis I bear,
And call on George's callous soul to hear.
Reform thy conduct, or expect that Heav'n,
By whom thy delegated pow'r is giv'n,
Will rouse in wrath, and hurl thee from the throne,
Unworthy Prince, whom Britons blush to own.
See civil rage torment the bleeding land,
Rais'd and supported by a Monarch's hand;
Permit me Prince, t'unfold the dreadful scene,
And actions that disgrace the name of men,
See British legions reeking from the sword
Of worthless Britons, and their misled Lord,
[Page 222] The orphan'd son, the helpless mother see,
Plung'd in the depths of awful misery.
Youth and hoary age lie whelt'ring on the plains,
And desolation and destruction reigns:
Such scenes as these must sure your soul appall,
Thou art th' occasion, thou the cause of all;
What e'er thy cursed minions can design,
Thou giv'st assent, and the whole guilt is thine;
See Britain wasted by her father's sword,
And France and ev'ry foreign aid implor'd;
Suppose they shou'd be conquer'd, what remains,
What can be had from captives and from chains;
What large revenues can your coffers boast,
From ruin'd cities, and a wasted coast,
From nations slaughter'd, and from seas of blood,
What gain to make the mighty mischief good.
Remember Prince on what precarious ties,
The uncertain safety of a tyrant lies;
What poor defence will guards and armies yield,
When long insulted subjects take the field;
What safety then can parasites bestow,
Or how elude the long deserved blow;
When justice rises and demands the blood
Of haughty tyrants, and their fawning crowd;
Ah, blush, deluded Prince, with comcious shame
That George should merit that detested name.
Search British annals, and let them declare,
Those truths too harsh to wound the royal ear;
See brave Fitzwalter lead the Barons on,
And force the unwilling deed from coward John;
With iron sway the blust'ring dastard rules,
The constant dupe of swarming knaves and fools.
"The weakest Athiest wretch all Heav'n defies,
Who shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies."
[Page 223] So shrunk the tyrant, when Fitzwalter led,
His warlike cohorts on to Runny Mead,
Then ancient Windsor's lofty towr's beheld,
The blazing standards waving o'er the field,
The shining jav'lins glittering from afar,
The moony shields and all the pomp of war;
Sheath'd in bright steel then Britains saviours stood,
Undaunted, firm, and resolutely good;
Forth in the midst the frowning tyrant came,
And viewed with fear and rage each godlike name.
The coward shrunk at Britain's brave array,
And Magna Charta crown'd the glorious day.
Search further yet how Edward's minions fell,
That galling truth, to Bute and Mansfield tell.
May every curse, vindictive heaven can pour,
Descend on them, in one destructive shower,
Perish their names O! let the traitors bleed;
Justice demands, the realm approves the deed.
Proceed and be by faithful hist'ry taught,
How Essex labour'd, and great Cromwell fought;
When haughty Charles disgrac'd the British throne,
And trod our freedom and religion down.
That dreadful Crisis big with loud alarms,
Call'd every Briton to assert in arms
The dear bought rights, the violated cause,
Of their dear country and its sacred laws;
They came obedient to the glorious call,
One generous spirit animated all:
Such generous souls may Britain yet afford,
And own again a Cromwell's saving sword;
An Hampden yet, an Essex yet may rise,
And tyrants yet may fall a sacrifice.
Illustrious shades the faithful muse shall crown,
Your glorious names, with honour and renown,
[Page 224] Long as this world with all its splendor stands,
Stupendeous frame, rais'd by immortal hands.
Long as the annals of eternal fame,
Record each hero's and each patriot's name,
Long as a Briton lives t' assert the cause,
Of heaven, of freedom, and the British laws;
So long shall Cromwell's, Hampden's name remain
And times erasing vengeance prove in vain.
Inspire your children, O ye patriot band,
To rush on death, and save a sinking land;
You who could haughty tyranny repel,
Protect the cause, in which you nobly fell,
That glorious cause, which heaven eternal owns,
And fires to vengeance your too tardy sons:
They rise at length, t' assert the freedom given,
T' assert the cause of liberty and heaven;
Tremble thou tyrant at the awful day,
When injur'd Britons give their vengeance way;
Tremble ye minions who your Prince misled,
Uncommon wrath remains for you to dread,
The traytors who your sovereign's heart have steel▪
And cur'st him with a soul that cannot yield,
Eternal vengeance must your crimes pursue,
Justice demands you, as the public due.
Unseeling man, if e'er thy soul can know,
Steel'd as it is, the touch of human woe;
If generous pity can a thought impart,
To shake the horrid purpose of your heart,
If pity harbours in that iron breast,
Call back your cut-throats, give your people rest;
Withdraw your fleets, send no more armies o'er,
But bid the martial thunders cease to roar.
Do this, and Britain may again forgive,
Again consent to let a tyrant live.
[Page 225]
But dare not trifle with a moment given,
Presumptous Prince, nor spurn with awful heaven,
Think not that Britons passive will remain,
Hug the vile yoke, and smile upon the chain;
They have not learnt the faith which cowards own,
"The enormous faith of many made for one,"
Far nobler precepts fire the British breast,
Then yielding freedom for inglorious rest;
Far nobler ends their freeborn spirits own,
Then basely crouching to a tyrants throne;
Such base concessions stain'd not Britain's fame,
When Charles's death immortaliz'd their name▪
Or guilty James his injur'd subjects fled,
Lay hid in France and trembled for his head;
Remember this, O monarch, nor presume,
On tir'd out faith and lenity to come.
The sword is drawn and hellish discord roars,
Let loose by Mansfield on North Am'rick's shores,
The trait'rous Thane t' enslave a nation joins,
And blust'ring North avows their cur'st designs;
George too consents and signs the horrid deed,
By which innumber'd innocents must bleed.
With tenfold rage, inspire, O muse, the strain,
To paint the horrors of this guilty reign;
Young Allen dies in his paternal field,
And murder'd laws, audacious murderers shield,
The sovereign too t' enlarge the mighty guilt,
Thanks his dear Scotsmen for the blood they've spilt
Petitions spurn'd at, with a sulky frown,
The Monarch drives his subjects from the throne,
Astonish'd that those subjects dare to sue,
For fellow subjects, rebels in his view,
Tells them his firm, his steady soul retains
Its iron purpose, and his heart remains
[Page 226] Inflexible, determin'd to enslave,
And murder thousands he had sworn to save.
Remember Prince, the throne to George was giv'n,
T' asser, the cause of Liberty and Heaven,
But when he ceases Freedom to maintain,
And dares attempt, unaw'd by laws to reign,
When Heavens great cause is spurn'd at and forgot,
And horrid popish superstition taught,
The cause that gave the scepter then demands,
The same again from his unworthy hands,
Resign, proud man, with shame resign the throne,
And let contrition for your faults attone,
Or once again the call of Heaven attend,
And be your people's, not your minions friend,
Do this, and Britain may again forgive,
And let a tyrant thus repenting live.
Your hopes of conquest on North Am'rics coast,
Are blasted, and your expectations lost,
Your armies routed, and your Generals driven
Back to their fleets, the sport of angry Heaven;
* When they embark'd what storms convuls'd the pole,
What light'nings flash'd, what awful thunders roll;
'Tis God against you in his wrath declares,
These are his omens, and his thunder theirs,
Say can your madness stand the dire alarms,
Say can you meet Omnipotence in arms.
[Page 227]
But hark, they call you from the realms of dead,
The dauntless souls that for their country bled,
At Concord
* slaughter'd, lay the glorious train,
That met the British Tyrant with disdain,
They call for vengeance from the shades below,
And point at you the author of their woe.
My soul's on fire, distinctions are forgot,
I'll speak to tyrants as a Briton ought.
By thee our plains lie steep'd in human blood,
By thee our rivers pour a purple flood,
By thee the British glories are no more,
And vast destruction whelm'd th' Atlantic shore;
By thee our cities dread the dire alarms,
And horrid slaughters of fraternal arms,
Thy trait'rous ministers the deed design,
Thou giv'st assent, and the whole guilt is thine
Wave after wave, the mighty mischiefs flow,
Thick and more thick, the threat'ning dangers grow;
Impartial ages yet to come will read,
With secret horror each infernal deed;
Rend thee, like Stuart, from the rolls of fame,
And unborn millions curse a G—e's name.
CATO.
LONDON: Printed and published for the Author, by T. W. SHAW, in Fleet-Street.
NEW-YORK: Re-Printed by John Anderson, at Beekman's Slip.