----Thy toast, Monsieur, Pray, why that solemn phiz:-- Art thou, too, balancing 'twixt right and wrong? Hast thou a thought so mean as to give up Thy present good, for promise in reversion? 'Tis true hereafter has some feeble terrors, But ere our grizzly heads are wrapt in clay We may compound, and make our peace with Heav'n. MONSIEUR. Could I give up the dread of retribution, The awful reck'ning of some future day, Like surly Hateall I might curse mankind, And dare the threat'ned vengeance of the skies. Or like yon apostate---- [_Pointing to HAZLEROD, retired to a corner to read Massachusettensis._ Feel but slight remorse To sell my country for a grasp of gold. But the impressions of my early youth, Infix'd by precepts of my pious sire, Are stings and scorpions in my goaded breast; Oft have I hung upon my parent's knee And heard him tell of his escape from France; He left the land of slaves, and wooden shoes; From place to place he sought a safe retreat, Till fair Bostonia stretch'd her friendly arm And gave the refugee both bread and peace: (Shall I ungrateful 'rase the sacred bonds, And help to clank the tyrant's iron chains O'er these blest shores--once the sure asylum From all the ills of arbitrary sway?) With his expiring breath he bade his sons, If e'er oppression reach'd the western world, Resist its force, and break the servile yoke. SCRIBLERIUS. Well quit thy post;----Go make thy flatt'ring court To Freedom's Sons and tell thy baby fears; Shew the foot traces in thy puny heart, Made by the trembling tongue and quiv'ring lip Of an old grandsire's superstitious whims. MONSIEUR. No,----I never can---- So great the itch I feel for titl'd place, Some honorary post, some small distinction, To save my name from dark oblivion's jaws, I'll hazard all, but ne'er give up my place, For _that_ I'll see Rome's ancient rites restor'd, And flame and faggot blaze in ev'ry street. BEAU TRUMPS. ----That's right, Monsieur, There's nought on earth that has such tempting charms As rank and show, and pomp, and glitt'ring dress, Save the dear counters at belov'd Quadril, Viner unsoil'd, and Littleton, may sleep, And Coke lie mould'ring on the dusty shelf, If I by shuffling draw some lucky card That wins the livres, or lucrative place. HUM HUMBUG. When sly Rapatio shew'd his friends the scroll, I wonder'd much to see thy patriot name Among the list of rebels to the state, I thought thee one of Rusticus's sworn friends. BEAU TRUMPS.