'Stay, Crape, come back--what! don't you see The effects of this discovery? Dulman all care and toil endures-- The profit, Crape, will all be yours. A mitre, (for, this arduous task Perform'd, they'll grant whate'er I ask) A mitre (and perhaps the best) Shall, through my interest, make thee blest: And at this time, when gracious Fate Dooms to the Scot the reins of state, 1160 Who is more fit (and for your use We could some instances produce) Of England's Church to be the head, Than you, a Presbyterian bred? But when thus mighty you are made, Unlike the brethren of thy trade, Be grateful, Crape, and let me not, Like old Newcastle,[243] be forgot. But an affair, Crape, of this size Will ask from Conduct vast supplies; 1170 It must not, as the vulgar say, Be done in hugger-mugger way: Traitors, indeed (and that's discreet) Who hatch the plot, in private meet; They should in public go, no doubt, Whose business is to find it out. To-morrow--if the day appear Likely to turn out fair and clear-- Proclaim a grand processionade[244]-- Be all the city-pomp display'd, 1180 Let the Train-bands'--Crape shook his head-- They heard the trumpet, and were fled-- 'Well,' cries the Knight, 'if that's the case, My servants shall supply their place-- My servants--mine alone--no more Than what my servants did before-- Dost not remember, Crape, that day, When, Dulman's grandeur to display, As all too simple and too low, Our city friends were thrust below, 1190 Whilst, as more worthy of our love, Courtiers were entertain'd above? Tell me, who waited then? and how? My servants-mine: and why not now?-- In haste then, Crape, to Stentor go-- But send up Hart, who waits below; With him, till you return again, (Reach me my spectacles and cane) I'll make a proof how I advance in My new accomplishment of dancing.' 1200 Not quite so fast as lightning flies, Wing'd with red anger, through the skies; Not quite so fast as, sent by Jove, Iris descends on wings of love; Not quite so fast as Terror rides When he the chasing winds bestrides, Crape hobbled; but his mind was good-- Could he go faster than he could? Near to that tower, which, as we're told, The mighty Julius raised of old, 1210 Where, to the block by Justice led, The rebel Scot hath often bled; Where arms are kept so clean, so bright, 'Twere sin they should be soil'd in fight; Where brutes of foreign race are shown By brutes much greater of our own; Fast by the crowded Thames, is found An ample square of sacred ground, Where artless Eloquence presides, And Nature every sentence guides. 1220 Here female parliaments debate About religion, trade, and state; Here every Naïad's patriot soul, Disdaining foreign base control, Despising French, despising Erse, Pours forth the plain old English curse,