His Lady’s wardrobe was apprised so high At his own sale, that nobody would buy!— “But she is gone,” he cries, “and never saw The spoil and havoc of our cruel law; 130 My steeds, our chariot that so roll’d along, Admired of all! they sold them for a song. You all can witness what my purse could do; And now I wear a badge like one of you, Who in my service had been proud to live— And this is all a thankless town will give. I, who have raised the credit of that town, And gave it, thankless as it is, renown— Who’ve done, what no man there had done before, Now hide my head within an Alms-house door— 140 Deprived of all—my wife, my wealth, my vote, And in this blue defilement——_Curse the Coat!_” TALE XII. _THE BROTHER BURGESSES._ I. Two busy BROTHERS in our place reside, And wealthy each, his party’s boast and pride; Sons of one father, of two mothers born, They hold each other in true party-scorn. JAMES is the one who for the people fights, The sturdy champion of their dubious rights; Merchant and seaman rough, but not the less Keen in pursuit of his own happiness; And what his happiness?—To see his store Of wealth increase, till Mammon groans, “No more!” 10 JAMES goes to church—because his father went, But does not hide his leaning to dissent; Reasons for this, whoe’er may frown, he’ll speak— Yet the old pew receives him once a week. CHARLES is a churchman, and has all the zeal That a strong member of his church can feel; A loyal subject is the name he seeks; He of “his King and Country” proudly speaks: He says, his brother and a rebel-crew, Minded like him, the nation would undo, 20 If they had power, or were esteem’d enough Of those who had, to bring their plans to proof. JAMES answers sharply—“I will never place My hopes upon a Lordship or a Grace! To some great man you bow, to greater he, Who to the greatest bends his supple knee, That so the manna from the head may drop, And at the lowest of the kneelers stop. Lords call you loyal, and on them you call To spare you something from our plunder’d all: 30 If tricks like these to slaves can treasure bring, Slaves well may shout them hoarse for ‘Church and King!’” “Brother!” says Charles,—“yet ‘brother’ is a name I own with pity, and I speak with shame— One of these days you’ll surely lead a mob, And then the hangman will conclude the job.” “And would you, Charles, in that unlucky case, } Beg for his life whose death would bring disgrace } On you, and all the loyal of our race? } Your worth would surely from the halter bring 40} One neck, and I, a patriot, then might sing— } A brother patriot I—‘God save our noble King!’” } “James!” said the graver man, in manner grave— “Your neck I could not, I your soul would save;