Why so severe, or why exclaim at all, Against the man who made thee what thou art? BEAU TRUMPS. I know his guilt,--I ever knew the man, Thy father knew him e'er we trod the stage; I only speak to such as know him well; Abroad I tell the world he is a saint, But as for int'rest I betray'd my own With the same views, I rank'd among his friends: But my ambition sighs for something more. What merits has Sir Sparrow of his own, And yet a feather graces the fool's cap: Which did he wear for what himself achiev'd, 'Twould stamp some honour on his latest heir---- But I'll suspend my murm'ring care awhile; Come, t' other glass----and try our luck at Loo, And if before the dawn your gold I win, Or e'er bright Phoebus does his course begin, The eastern breeze from Britain's hostile shore Should waft her lofty floating towers o'er, Whose waving pendants sweep the wat'ry main, Dip their proud beaks and dance towards the plain, The destin'd plains of slaughter and distress, Laden with troops from Hanover and Hess, It would invigorate my sinking soul, For then the continent we might control; Not all the millions that she vainly boasts Can cope with Veteran Barbarian hosts;---- But the brave sons of Albion's warlike race, Their arms, and honours, never can disgrace, Or draw their swords in such a hated cause, In blood to seal a N----'s oppressive laws, They'll spurn the service;----Britons must recoil, And shew themselves the natives of an isle Who sought for freedom, in the worst of times Produc'd her Hampdens, Fairfaxes, and Pyms. But if by carnage we should win the game, Perhaps by my abilities and fame: I might attain a splendid glitt'ring car, And mount aloft, and sail in liquid air. Like Phaëton, I'd then out-strip the wind, And leave my low competitors behind. _Finis._