My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
surety fall an easy prey to France, which would be a serious mishap
indeed. On the other hand, deliberately to place a weapon in the grasp
of a young sister whom we have wronged and hectored all her life, and
who ominously reminds us that though slavery has curbed her spirit she
comes of a good fighting stock, is surely rash. Forgiveness of
injuries savours too much of heaven for mere daughters of earth, and
it is more than probable that, having repulsed the invader, this child
of warlike sires will seize the opportunity to smite us under our own
fifth rib. However, there was nothing for it but to risk that danger;
so England sent over with a good grace a quantity of arms, and
secretly vowed to whip the naughty jade on a later day for having been
the innocent cause of the difficulty.
That which Britain feared took place. For six hundred years she had
persistently been sowing dragons' teeth in the Isle of Saints, and
perseveringly watering them with blood; and lo, in a night, they rose
up armed men--a threatening host of warriors, who with one voice
demanded their just rights, unjustly withheld so long. England bit her
lips, and parleyed. She felt herself the laughingstock of Europe, and
her humiliation was rendered doubly acute by the dignified bearing of
the new-born battalions. They did not bully; they did not revile.
They calmly claimed their own, with the least little click of a
well-polished firelock, the slightest flutter of a green silk banner.
'To suit your own selfish ends,' they declared, 'you have robbed us of
our trade and suborned our legislature. Give us back our trade; permit
us to reform our senate. You have stripped us of our commerce
piecemeal. Return it, to the last shred. In the days of the first
Tudor, when you were strong and we were weak, a decree of Sir E.
Poyning's became law, whereby we were to be ruled henceforth from
distant London. The operation of all English statutes was to extend to
Ireland; the previous consent of an English Council was necessary to
render legal acts passed at home. By the 6th of George III. this was
made absolute; the Irish senate was decreed to be a chapel of ease to
that of Westminster. When we were weak our gyves were riveted tightly
upon our legs. Now our conditions are reversed; yet claim we nothing
but our own. Bring forth the anvil and the hammer. Strike off with
your own hand these fetters, for we will wear no bonds but those of
equal fellowship. Give us a free constitution and free trade, and let
bygones be bygones.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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