_WHAT! arm'd for virtue, and not point the pen, Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men, Dash the proud gamester from his gilded car, Bare the mean heart which lurks beneath a star,_ * * * _Shall I not strip the gilding off a knave, Unplac'd, unpension'd, no man's heir, or slave? I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause; Hear this and tremble, ye who 'scape the laws; Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave, Shall walk the world in credit to his grave; To virtue only, and her friends, a friend, The world beside may murmur, or commend._ DRAMATIS PERSONÆ _Lord Chief Justice HAZLEROD_, _Judge MEAGRE_, _Brigadier HATEALL_, _HUM HUMBUG, Esquire_, _Sir SPARROW SPENDALL_, _HECTOR MUSHROOM,--Col._ _BEAU TRUMPS_, _DICK, the Publican_, _SIMPLE SAPLING, Esquire_, _Monsieur de FRANÇOIS_, _CRUSTY CROWBAR, Esquire_, _DUPE,--Secretary of State_, _SCRIBLERIUS FRIBBLE_, _Commodore BATEAU_, _COLLATERALIS,--a new-made Judge_. Attended by a swarm of court sycophants, hungry harpies, and unprincipled danglers, collected from the neighbouring villages, hovering over the stage in the shape of locusts, led by Massachusettensis in the form of a basilisk; the rear brought up by Proteus, bearing a torch in one hand, and a powder-flask in the other. The whole supported by a mighty army and navy, from Blunderland, for the laudable purpose of enslaving its best friends. _The_ GROUP _A_ _Farce_ ACT I. SCENE I. _A little dark Parlour in Boston:_ _GUARDS standing at the door._ _HAZLEROD, CRUSTY CROWBAR, SIMPLE SAPLING, HATEALL, and HECTOR MUSHROOM._ SIMPLE. I know not what to think of these sad times, The people arm'd,--and all resolv'd to die Ere they'll submit.---- CRUSTY CROWBAR. I too am almost sick of the parade Of honours purchas'd at the price of peace. SIMPLE. Fond as I am of greatness and her charms, Elate with prospects of my rising name, Push'd into place,--a place I ne'er expected, My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast. And ecstasies entranc'd my slender brain.-- But yet, ere this I hop'd more solid gains, As my low purse demands a quick supply.-- Poor Sylvia weeps,--and urges my return To rural peace and humble happiness, As my ambition beggars all her babes. CRUSTY. When first I listed in the desp'rate cause, And blindly swore obedience to his will, So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio, That if salvation rested on his word I'd pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon. HAZLEROD. Any why not now?--What staggers thy belief? CRUSTY.