R--h--d and S--d--ch, of one mind, And all their mutual wrongs forgive, (What wonders can be left behind!) And henceforth like twin brothers live. The frenzy seiz’d the feather’d race, For (now when _Pitt_ would mend the nation) The crows on Captain Stephenson’s trees, Sat, settling plans of reformation. An aged Rook perch’d on a bough, With hoary head and jetty wing, His plumy neighbours round him drew, And Britain’s fate he thus did sing. “Listen, ye Crows, my brethren all, And hear what my ill-boding mind Fortells--Britannia soon must fall! I snuff its ruin in the wind. “For kings, by tyranny, have driven Fair Freedom from Europa’s States; (Freedom! thou choicest gift of Heaven!) Then hear the doom fix’d by the fates:-- “Since men the heavenly gift despise, And o’er th’ Atlantic Freedom’s fled, Plagues, famine, tyranny, and wars shall rise, And endless woes shall all succeed! “Let’s search for th’ ACHANS in the camp, That thus have caus’d our Israel’s woes; --Yes, kings, and all the bishop-stamp, I dread, have been the lurking foes! “For never shall the land have peace, As good Lord George[10], and David say? Till from our isle we banish these, And drive such rogues a-cross the sea.” The sable crowd croak’d hoarse applause, And highly charm’d were with th’ oration, Till one fierce crow their notice draws, Who thus address’d the feather’d nation:-- “Rebels accurs’d!” he frown’d and cried, “How could you this old traitor hear? Who thus dare kings and priests deride, Whom men should worship and revere. “I see your doom, ye trait’rous crew!”-- Th’ impatient throng would hear no more; With furious bills they at him flew, And in a moment had him tore---- Had he not clapt his wings and fled, And taken refuge on th’ Exchange; And from its top he bow’d his head, And spoke the crowds that round him range:-- “Mortals, attend with reverend awe, Mark well my words, Newcastle people, I’ll do what yet you never saw, I build my nest upon this steeple. “From this most happy omen, know What blessings shall to you be given; What peace and choicest gifts shall flow From the all-kind, all-bounteous heaven. “And first of all shall taxes cease, Provisions fall, and there shall be Rich golden crops, the fruits of peace, And choicest product of the sea. “Then polish’d manners shall prevail; --Would you believe!--but you shall see Millers no more your corn shall steal; And doctors cure without a fee. “Lawyers by strife shall cease to thrive; And what’s more strange--aye, is it not? The milk, and every other tythe, Shall all be dropt by _Doctor Scott_! “Then _Windydrum_ shall cease to sneer, And _Shorthorn_ shall turn wond’rous civil;[11] And after them you scarce need fear To cultivate the very devil!