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Have left their eagles, long-tried bravery's trust,
Beneath our lion, grov'lling in the dust.
Fair Portugal, ally of England's fame,
Revives the glories of her ancient name,
And sleep appeas'd on drear Corunna's shore,
The shades that wander'd round the grave of Moore.
I own all this. (Nay more, will e'en restrain
Blame of the haughty sluggishness of Spain;
Spain, whose false pride would force me to confess
E'en Well'sley's conduct doubtful of success.)
But is this all? Can this alone bestow
The gifts our country justly seeks to know?
Hush bigot prejudice, set commerce free,
Make Britain blest, as Britain ought to be.
Pardon, my friend! if, while I pleas'd applaud
Our soldiers' valour, leader's skill abroad,
I cannot cease those ills at home to blame,
That undermine us in our flush of fame.

He, whose whole life to Britain's realm hath stood
A sacred pledge of ample future good;

That Prince, whose brilliant hope has giv'n, for years,
Erin still cause to smile, through all her tears;
Her sole great solace still his heart to know
Her freedom's champion, and proscription's foe;
Upon that Prince's brows intrigue hath plac'd
A crown, whose brightest jewels are effac'd.
First of his race, whose sceptre in this land
E'er yielded any of its high command;
Constrain'd to wield, in Britain's trying hour,
Insulted monarchy's restricted pow'r.

Not spar'd one hateful toil, one curse of state,
Still forc'd to doom the wretched to their fate;
But still forbidden to bestow on those

Whose valour triumphs o'er their country's foes,
Who watch, who labour for her weal and fame,
The native honours that their actions claim.

I blame not him, whose filial love retains
Those men as servants, whom his mind disdains;
But oh! I loathe those men, who, for their gain,
Can sport unfeeling with a people's pain ;

Who

REVIEW OF THE GOVERNMENT.

Who use that filial love by lowest art,
Tenthrall the generous feelings of his heart,
And make a sire's disease, with selfish care,
An engine for their purpose on his heir.

285

These are the men, who, while their course destroys
To every hearth a portion of its joys,

Should any patriot's bold and generous heart
Bid him unveil their low, debasing art,

And show the means-means legal, just, and plain,
By which a Briton may those joys regain;
All their fed pack its loudest anger stirs,
Their gauntest bloodhounds and their vilest curs;
At theory's falsehood, growl the sullen whelps ;
Ring" black malignity," in louder yelps;

Of Jews and Pedlars," snarl; and plaintive whine
Their hopes that none will follow such a line.
Gold's fragrant honours Bank Directors draw,
And mooting lawyers strive to doubt the law.
Hints and Amendments crowd the long debates,
To manage for us all our own estates,

And e'en more deep our private cares explore,
Than all our prying taxes did before.

These are the men, whose wisdom must oppose
The awful power of Britain's bitterest foes,
Lacking alike, far, far their hopes above,
Their Prince's confidence and people's love—
That Prince, who, firm, their venal praise neglects,
Distrusts as statesmen, and as friends rejects,
Nor lets them add to those who hem the Throne,
One other hungry minion of their own.
Each vegetates, contented in his place,
'Mid baffled wishes, ever new disgrace,

And scorn as mark'd, as drives, despite of gain,
The liveried menial from his master's train.

66

Keep we our places! keep them still," they cry, "Though war envelope all, though commerce die ; Nor longer dares her old reliance place On credit tott'ring on a paper base. No plans of wise relief will we enforce, We'll use no remedy, seek no resource;

The

The gifts for which these realms our names would thank,
Would vex the City, and displease the Bank.
None, 'mid improvement, can our seats ensure,
But, 'mid the present horrors, they 're secure."
Ambition's base, without just Pride's control,
(Ah! sometimes mingled with the greatest soul;)
Ambition, that from lofty stations draws
Its pride, nor rests upon its own applause;
Ambition, that, when baffled in the plan
Its wisdom labour'd for the good of man,
Cannot the fall from worldly state endure,
Content, when useless, to become obscure.

Said I obscure? Did I forget the man,
Whose ease ennobled thy retreat, St. Anne* ?
Not such as placemen, free from business, soothes,
'Mid pension'd elders, and expectant youths :
Not hail'd and cheer'd at every trite remark,
By the prompt plaudits of some Treasury Clerk,
His pleasure dwelt upon the classic page,
His converse sought the learned of the age;
Retir'd and hid, still would the people greet
Him as their guardian in his close retreat;

"T was still their soothing hope, 'mid all their woes,
That happier times would call him from repose,
And bid him tread beneath a fav'ring reign,
The path of safety he had shown in vain.

Could then obscure be this retirement's name,

This splendid happiness, untroubled fame,
Which deck'd the pleasures of a private state
With all the real honours of the great?

Not power, or titles, or th' admiring crowd,

Where cring'd the wealthy, and where knelt the proud, Could aught increase (though bane to all his bliss)

The simple greatness of a man like this.

Such, oh my friend! is of our state the scope,

Ah, much more full of terror than of hope!

But still one ray of cheering hope is shown

Through all the clouds that now obscure the Throne;

* Mr. Fox's villa at St. Anne's Hill,

And

ASSES VERSUS HORSES.

And firm I trust, when that again is bright,
With all its rightful majesty of light,

Then shall its beams, chasing this paltry band,
Shine on the great and virtuous of the land,
And all our cherish'd hopes, all Britain's trust,
However vast and glorious, shall prove just.

287

SIR,

IN

ASSES VERSUS HORSES.

[From the General Evening Post, Aug. 1.]

TO THE EDITOR, &c.

N some remarks I sent you, a few months ago, on the subject of introducing quadruped performers on the stage, I endeavoured to prove that the blame of this absurdity, be it more or less, ought to be shared equally, or nearly so, between the Managers who offer, and the Public who accept. I did not think it quite fair to provoke the indignation of any part of the Public to violent measures, in a case where a much greater part of that same Public seemed inclined to extend their patronage. While I allowed the difference between man and horse, I did not conceive we had any right to abuse the Managers, because there were persons who declared themselves as much amused with the one as the other.

At that time, however, I had no objection to such opposition as might be vented in ridicule; against which, I am persuaded, neither theatrical nor any other absurdities can long maintain their ground; and I am pleased to see ridicule employed in the case of horses, whether they usurp the place of actors, or are more harmlessly eniployed in drawing a fool in a barouche. Caricature prints, newspaper squibs, epigrams, and essays, prose or verse, have all been useful in their way; and I now remark, with satisfaction, that the powers of ridicule have found an

useful

useful ally in the Theatre itself. A kind of farcical parodies have been introduced, and horses, and German plays (which latter were always more absurd and more pernicious), are now in the right road to expulsion, by being fairly laughed off the stage, without any aid from the violence of riotous conspiracies.

Yet, it has been remarked, with some degree of indignation, and as a reproach to the taste of the times, that the same Public which admired and encouraged horse-actors and German plays, amiable adultresses, benevolent highwaymen, and sentimental shoplifters, now flock, with equal pleasure, to see all these extravagancies burlesqued. Be it so-All we can infer from this is what might have, long ago, been concluded from similar premises, namely, that the Public is a very strange and unaccountable being, led by caprice, and in its pursuits various, unstable, and inconstant; untractable if opposed, but if permitted quietly to come to its senses, ready to retract its errors; and, as we now see, not reluctant to join very good-naturedly in the laugh against itself.

Such, I think, is the Public; but let me not be mistaken-1 allude only, in this character, to that Public (we have more Publics than one in this country) which is in pursuit of amusement; and when we consider how little the lovers of amusement regard the means-a comedy, a tragedy, a farce, an ass-race, a pig-race, &c.it will not, perhaps, appear very inconsistent that they should laugh to-day at what made them cry yesterday. All this apparent difference of feeling is prescribed by Fashion; and whether that despot (the Buonaparte of public places) shall enact floods of tears, or bursts of laughter, she is sure to be obeyed by a Public, which, although we can neither count it, nor measure it, will always be found large enough to fill our Theatres.

I am, Sir, yours,

FULTON

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