“Stand fast, my merry men,” he cried, “By MOIRA’S Earl and me, And we will gain place, wealth and pow’r, As arm’d neutrality. “Excise and Customs, Church and Law, I’ve begg’d from _Master_ ROSE; The Garter too—but still _the Blues_ I’ll have, or I’ll oppose.” “Now God be with him,” quoth the KING, “Sith ’twill no better be; I trust we have within our realm Five hundred good as he.” The DUKE then join’d with Charley FOX, A leader ware and tried, And ERSKINE, SHERIDAN, and GREY Fought stoutly by his side. Throughout the English Parliament, They dealt full many a wound; But in his king’s and country’s cause, PITT firmly stood his ground. And soon a law like arrow keen, Or spear, or curtal-axe, Struck poor DUKE SMITHSON to the heart, In shape of _Powder-tax_.[172] Sore leaning on his crutch, he cried, “Crop, crop, my merry men all; No guinea for your head I’ll pay, Though Church and State should fall.” Again the taxing-man appear’d— No deadlier foe could be; A schedule of a cloth-yard long, Within his hand bore he. “Yield thee, DUKE SMITHSON, and behold The assessment thou must pay; Dogs, horses, houses, coaches, clocks, And servants in array.” “Nay,” quoth the DUKE, “in thy black scroll Deductions I espye— For those who, poor, and mean, and low, With children burthen’d lie. “And though full sixty thousand pounds My vassals pay to me, From Cornwall to _Northumberland_, Through many a fair countée; “Yet England’s church, its king, its laws, Its cause, I value not, Compar’d with this, my constant text, _A penny sav’d, is got_. “No drop of princely _Percy’s_ blood Through these cold veins doth run; With _Hotspur’s_ castles, blazon, name, I still am _poor_ SMITHSON. “Let England’s youth unite in arms, And every liberal hand, With honest zeal, subscribe their mite, To save their native land: “I at _St. Martin’s_ Vestry Board, To swear shall be content, That I have children eight, and claim _Deductions ten per cent._”